


Cops and Robbers

by kinkstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cop!Dean, Criminal AU, Criminal Castiel, Detective Dean, Dirty Talk, Fingerfucking, Handcuffs, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Panty Kink, Rimming, Top!Cas, bottom!Dean, criminal!cas, slight dom!cas, slight sub!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:50:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 59,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinkstiel/pseuds/kinkstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They locked eyes for a minute and then Cas leaned back as far as the cuffs would let him go, spreading his legs obscenely wide. “I want you to suck my cock, Dean.” Dean balked, mouth going dry in a second, eyes slipping to the now visible bulge in Castiel’s suit pants. “Um,” he said stupidly, face flushing red, eyes unable to pull away.</p>
<p>Cas hummed. “Depending on how well you suck me, I might just tell you everything you want to know.” He licked his lips, smirking slightly when he caught Dean’s gaze. “And with sinful little lips like yours,” he made a low whistling sound, “I don’t doubt you’ll get every last name out of me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably continue.

This was supposed to be his big break, the defining moment in his career when he finally managed to put an end to one of the biggest gun rackets this side of the Mississippi. The year was 1947 and detective Dean Winchester was dropping the ball on the biggest case Lawrence, Kansas had ever seen. He closed his eyes again, scrubbing a hand over his face as he tried to collect himself. 

“Are you frustrated yet, Dean?” 

“Yeah, ‘course I’m freakin’ frustrated,” he mumbled, still not looking at the man sitting in front of him. “Dammit, Cas, I’ve been interrogating you for hours!” Dean pushed away from the table, needing to put some distance between them. This had to be getting close to hour three and he’d learned absolutely nothing useful. 

It was hardly his fault, though. Castiel Novak was, if the rumors were true, the mafia’s favorite hit man and was considered to be royalty among gangsters and high-class criminals alike. There was no way Dean was going to crack the son of bitch. Guy may have been a massive bag of dicks but he was still smart and protected, and he fucking knew it too. 

“Tell you what, gorgeous.” Cas drawled after a moment. “You scratch my back,” he purred, “I’ll scratch yours.”

Dean sighed, turning to face the other man. He was a criminal, but it was hard to believe it when you saw him. Man was pretty, all big blue eyes and lean muscles with a jawline you could chip a tooth on. Dean supposed there was a reason they called him The Angel. He cleared his throat, “What do you want, Cas?”

They locked eyes for a minute and then Cas leaned back as far as the cuffs would let him go, spreading his legs obscenely wide. “I want you to suck my cock, Dean.” Dean balked, mouth going dry in a second, eyes slipping to the now visible bulge in Castiel’s suit pants. “Um,” he said stupidly, face flushing red, eyes unable to pull away.

Cas hummed. “Depending on how well you suck me, I might just tell you everything you want to know.” He licked his lips, smirking slightly when he caught Dean’s gaze. “And with sinful little lips like yours,” he made a low whistling sound, “I don’t doubt you’ll get every last name out of me.”

Dean felt a slow heat coiling around in his gut, twisting up underneath his skin. There was a long moment where he struggled to regain even basic brain function. He opened and closed his mouth, trying desperately to force out some kind of a response. Eventually he managed to breathe out, “Cas”, voice huskier than normal. He knew he should say something more, should call for backup, or have Cas hauled back to his cell. But he couldn’t bring himself to form the words. Instead, he just stood there, eyes fixed on the outline of Cas’ dick. Dean swallowed, unconsciously licking his lips.

“What are you waiting for, then?” 

“I, I’ve never. Before. I’ve never, uh—”

Cas chuckled, the sound low and deep and filthy. “You’ve never what, gorgeous? Don’t tell me that mouth has never had a dick stuffed in it?” He made a clucking sound with his tongue, head shaking mournfully. “What a shame that is. Still,” he smiled, “no time like the present. What’s say we remedy the situation?”

Before he could even fully register what was happening, his legs were inching closer to where Cas sat cuffed to the table. It wasn’t until he was standing above the other man that he stopped, realizing what he was doing.

“What’s the matter, baby? Getting cold feat? You do still want those names, don’t you?”

“Um, well. You’re cuffed, I don’t know, where do I—”

The smile Cas gave him made Dean blush so hard his head was spinning. “Get on your knees for me, then crawl under the table.” Dean obeyed without a thought, heart pounding in his chest as he sank to the floor. The tile was cold against his palms but he barely noticed, too focused on crawling toward the space between Cas’ spread thighs. 

Once there he looked back up, nervous and terrified and completely unsure of what to do. Cas looked so calm and relaxed, like there wasn’t anything strange about this situation. “That’s my good boy.” His voice was even rougher than before, sending more of that burning heat to Dean’s stomach. “Now I want you to undo my pants, baby. Can you do that?” Dean nodded dumbly, hands reaching up to pull at Cas’ zipper. He had no idea why he was doing this, why he was letting this happen, but he couldn’t stop it. His fingers trembled, taking much longer than necessary to undo the zipper and pull the slacks down.

“Good. Pull them all the way off, underwear too.”

Dean nearly gasped when Cas’ cock finally slid free of his boxers. It was the first time he’d ever seen another man’s erection and what it did to his own dick was not something he wanted to think about. He licked his lips, staring at the flushed leaking head of Castiel’s cock.

“Does that look good to you, baby?”

Dean kept his head bowed, unable to face the other man as he nodded slowly. That was all Cas needed, though, because he was chuckling again, pushing his hips closer to Dean’s face.

“You want to taste me, don’t you baby? Want to wrap that beautiful mouth around my dick and make me scream, huh? Go on, then, open up for me.”

Castiel pressed the head of his cock against the side of Dean’s face, leaving a sticky trail of precome as he pushed toward that warm, wet looking mouth. “Tongue,” he grunted and Dean obediently thrust his tongue out to catch a few drops of the salty liquid before licking a strip up the length of Cas’ erection.

Dean closed his eyes, savoring the taste. He’d always imagined semen would taste gross, that pressing his tongue against a dick would be gross, but there was nothing gross about it. Cas tasted good, like really good, and he couldn’t help the groan that escaped him. 

“Knew you’d like it, gorgeous. Knew you were a little slut.”

Dean opened his eyes, tongue eagerly falling out to experiment more with licking and tasting the other man. He was tentative at first, nothing but small kitten licks around the head when he heard Cas laugh, “You’ll have to work harder than that if you want to taste anymore come.” Dean felt his cheeks prickle with embarrassment, but he pushed it aside and focused on the task at hand. Gripping the base of Cas’ cock with his hand, Dean started to lower his mouth over the thick head.

He couldn’t take much before he was gagging but the surprised chocked sound Cas made when his lips wrapped tightly around the shaft had him trying again a moment later. It was only a few minutes before he’d adjusted to having his lips stretched wide and set a rhythm that had Cas gasping. His head bobbed up and down, while one hand worked the base and the other gently pulled at his balls. 

“Fuck,” Cas moaned, “Look so good like this, baby. Made to take my cock, weren’t you?” The cuffs rattled above him as Cas’ hips bucked up slightly and Dean could picture his hands straining against the metal, wanting to burry his hands in Dean’s hair. The thought sent something desperate and needy through him and he could feel his own dick straining against the fabric of his pants. “You like this too, don’t you? Bet you’re so hard you could come just like this, just from sucking me off, couldn’t you?”

Dean made a groaning sound, the vibrations making Cas’ hips buck again and forcing his dick further into Dean’s mouth. “Relax your throat, baby. I know you can take more of me.” Cas rumbled above him, voice thick and rough now. Dean did as he was told, trying to relax his throat muscles for Cas. Eventually he succeeded, and Cas’ dick slid so far in that Dean’s nose pressed right into his pubic hair. He pulled off gasping and chocking, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

“So good for me, so pretty. Throat’s so tight, Dean.”

“Cas,” Dean managed to croak out, voice raw now. 

“Fuck, your voice.”

“Can’t, hurts.” He mumbled.

“I know it does, but your doing so good, Dean.”

He didn’t say anything, looking away as the blush returned to his face. Everything hurt—his lips were loose and sore, his knees ached, his hand was cramping—and he felt humiliated because of it. This was probably the worst blowjob Cas had ever had. He was just in the middle of mentally beating himself up when he heard his name, the sound causing him to finally look up and meet the other man’s eyes.

“What’s the matter, baby boy?”

“I’m not, I’m not very, um, good.” He said, looking back down, cheeks growing even hotter.

“Look at me, Dean” When he did, Cas just laughed. His smile was warm, almost affectionate. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Do you know that? Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to fuck that mouth of yours?” He groaned, pushing his hips back up against Dean’s mouth. Without really thinking Dean opened his lips to the intrusion, letting Cas gently rock in and out. “Wanted this since we started—ah—playing this game of c-cat and m-mouse.” Dean was moving his head up and down again, impaling his mouth on Castiel’s erection, and periodically tonguing at the precome dripping from his slit. “That’s it, see, you know how to do i-it.”

Dean was determined now. He hollowed out his cheeks and sucked hard, mouth making obscene slurping and gagging noises the entire time. When he ran the flat of his tongue up and down the thick vein under the head of Cas’ cock, the man hissed, “Yes. Fuck don’t stop, baby, I’m so close. Just like that, Dean.”

He relaxed his throat again, this time prepared for the sensation of Castiel pressed into the tight space. It was only a few more minutes before Cas was screaming a chorus of “Fuck, god, yes, Dean, oh, fuck!” and coming right down Dean’s throat. He swallowed as much as he could, making sure to lick off everything that had dribbled out of his lips. 

Both men sat there panting, eyes locked together, for a few minutes. Dean was now painfully hard, on the verge of coming. He palmed his erection, whining slightly with the urgency. Cas laughed. “Do you want to come, Dean?”

“Ye-yes, Cas, please.”

“Pants first.” Dean desperately fumbled to put Castiel’s slacks and underwear back on. It wasn’t until Cas was fully tucked away that he stood and started rubbing himself through his own pants. 

“If you want to come,” His eyes narrowed as they scanned the room, before returning to Dean with a smirk. “You can jerk off into that cup.”

Dean’s mouth fell open. “Bu-bu-but—”

“Touching you was never part of our deal.” Cas replied coldly. 

“Cas.” Dean all but begged. 

He smiled then and lifted one knee up, trailing it over Dean’s erection before slipping it between his legs to rest on the table. “Is that what you want, Dean? You want me to touch you? You look so desperate, baby. Maybe you want to emend our little deal?” Dean made an undignified noise as he began rubbing himself against Cas’ leg. “Maybe you’d rather forgo getting any information, rather I just take you in my mouth? Lick your cock and swallow all your come?”

Before Dean got the chance to formulate any kind of response there was a loud knock on the door that sent him stumbling back into the table, heart in his throat. 

“Uh, uh, um, yes?”

“Captain wants to know if you’re done with the prisoner?” Kevin called through the door.

“Can you give us, um,” he looked back at Cas, “five more minutes alone. I think I’m, uh, pretty close to something here.”

“Yeah, sure thing Dean!” Came the cheerful reply.

“Dean, Dean, Dean.” Cas was shaking his head, smile playing at the corner of his lips. “What would your superior say if he found out you just blew a prisoner for information?”

“You wouldn’t tell him.”

“What do I have to lose?” He laughed. “You are right, however. I won’t tell him anything, but I also have no intention of giving anything up to you. Body or names.” Dean’s jaw nearly dropped. “Looks like you aren’t getting much, huh, gorgeous. Tell you what,” Cas pressed his leg back into Dean’s crotch, making him groan. “Since you did such a good job, I’ll let you rub your little prick against my leg and come right in your pants.”

Dean was so humiliated, but he was also too hard to think properly. So he started grinding himself against the proffered limb, biting back the desperate moans and whines as he pressed closer and closer to his own orgasm. Cas’ eyes never left his and the way he was staring made Dean feel even hotter. 

He fell forward, trying to get a better angle, bracing himself against Castiel’s shoulders. Dean’s eyes fell to the other man’s lips, wanting to kiss them but too scared that Cas might take his leg away. Instead he dropped his head and focused on not screaming, on his rhythm, on how firm Cas felt beneath him. 

Before long he was panting and hot, his whole body trembling as he rocked faster and faster against Cas. Suddenly his vision went dark, a raw guttural sound ripping it’s way through him as he came in his pants. Cas used his leg to massage Dean’s dick, milking his orgasm for all it was worth, while Dean desperately tried to hold back a sob of relief.

“There, it’s okay. I’ve got you, gorgeous.” Cas muttered as Dean all but collapsed against him. “Come on now, we can’t stay like this. Wouldn’t want anyone to walk in. You’d lose your job and the uniform is half the appeal, pretty.” 

Dean knew he was right but he couldn’t move. He found himself wishing that Cas wasn’t cuffed and could wrap his strong arms around him, hold him tightly to his chest. “You’ve got to go back under the table, Dean.” His voice was soft and Dean found his body once again moving on its own accord.

Once back on the other side Castiel smirked again, all softness gone as he yelled, “Guard!” Dean jumped at the force of it and seconds later officers were filing into the room, ready to haul Cas back to his cell.

“You get anything outta him, brother?” Benny asked, clapping Dean on the back.

“N-no. Not, um, not really. Nothing useful.” He spoke, eyes following Cas’.

“You okay? You been in here awhile, seem a bit out of it.”

“I’m, no. I’m fine.”

Before he was out of the room, Cas turned back to Dean. “Come by my cell later, pretty. I think you’ll find me to be much more,” he paused to lick his lips before practically purring, “cooperative.”

The word went right to Dean’s dick and he knew exactly where he’d be going later that night. He couldn’t help himself there was just something about the way Cas talked to him, the way Cas had demanded that of him. Dean wanted to do it again, wanted to be The Angel’s good boy again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I-I came to tell you that—that whatever happened back there, it won’t happen again. It can’t.”  
> “Uh-huh.” Cas nodded sternly, hands reaching out through the bars to grasp the waist of Dean’s pants, long fingers running along the waistband before sharply tugging him closer. Inches away, he could feel the heat of the other man’s breath ghost across his lips when he spoke. “Know what I think, Dean?”
> 
> “Wh-wh-what?”
> 
> “I think you still want me to touch you,” as he spoke, one of his hands slipped further down to palm Dean’s erection through the fabric of his pants. “And, I think,” Cas yanked Dean just a little closer, forcing his face to press so far into the bars that Cas could have kissed him if he’d wanted to, “you still want to touch me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to update. School and work have been crazy. 
> 
> Um, there will definitely be one more chapter and there might be another after that...I can't help myself.

Dean tapped his pen impatiently, eyes starring out at nothing. He was trying not to think about what had just happened or, more accurately, was trying not to think about what might happen again. How Castiel might look with his soft, plush lips stretched wide around Dean’s cock, or the kind of filthy things he’d say as he jerked him—

“Go home. You look exhausted, brother.” Benny clapped him on the back.

“Yeah, well. If I go home who’s gonna man the station?” He tried to force a smile, pointing over his shoulder at the kid clattering away on a typewriter. “Someone has to take care of the rookie.”

Kevin glared in Dean’s direction, “I heard that,” he grumbled.

If anything, Benny only looked more concerned. “Ben, I’m fine, really. We’ve all been here longer than we’d like. Cas—tiel is, uh, is in custody already so I doubt we’ll have anymore trouble tonight.”

“Guess your right. Still don’t feel right leavin’ you here, though.”

“I’ve got nobody waiting on me back home. I’m happy to stay till Vic gets in.”

“Alright, I ain’t lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth. You wanna stay here another five hours, it’s your grave.” He puts his hands up in surrender, smiling slightly as he turned around. “See you, brother.”

“G’night, Benny.”

He watched Benny’s back retreating out of the station until he was sure he’d left, then opened Castiel’s file and busied himself with paper work. On top of the stack of papers was a black and white photograph of Cas from a few years back. He looked cold, almost severe, and Dean’s mind couldn’t help replaying the way his voice had sounded so soft and kind when he said good boy, gorgeous, baby. Dean shivered, body aching for Cas’ praise.

They’d been chasing him for four years. Four years he’d spent every moment of every day trying to learn the details of the other man’s life—studying his habits and movements, likes and dislikes. By now he knew how Cas took his coffee, where he grew up, and which restaurants he liked best. And all the while Cas had been studying him too; learning god knows what about Dean’s personal and professional life.

The thought of Cas watching him when he was alone in his apartment sent a shiver of something closer to pleasure than fear down his spine. He looked up at the clock—it was already past midnight, Vic would be there in an hour or two so it was kind of now or never. Dean swallowed and slowly pushed himself out of his chair.

“Hey, uh, Kevin.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to go bring Cas—uh, the prisoner, some food. See if I can get anything out of him now. You okay to man the front?”

“Yeah. No problem, Dean. Good luck, I hear he’s a real treasure.”

Dean nodded absently, heading to the kitchen to get some food together. It wasn’t until he was headed in the direction of the cells, tray in hand, that he noticed how hard his heart was beating. Every step forward seemed to make his legs tremble more, the anticipation creeping through his body. He took a deep breath and unlocked the door, stepping into the small room empty except for the back cell. His feet seemed to move without his permission, drawing him closer, pulling him in.

“Hello, Dean.” 

Cas was stretched out on the cot at the back of cell. His eyes were closed, hands clasped behind his head, and from this position Dean could see just how toned The Angel was. The way his shirt was pulled tight around his biceps, how it had ridden up to show off the jut of his hipbones, how his pants hugged those thick thighs. Dean tried not to sigh.

“Uh, hey Cas.” He knew he should be worried. Castiel’s life was on the line here, he was facing down some serious time, but the man looked as relaxed as ever. Something was obviously going on, but Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care. Right now, all he could think about was how good Cas looked lying down like that and how much he wished he could crawl right onto his lap and ride his—

Dean coughed, blushing a little as he lifted up the tray in his hand. “Brought you some food.” 

He set the tray down in the small slot between the bars and was about to leave when he felt Cas’ fingers wrap around his wrist. “Mmm.” He hummed, “That you did, baby. And it looks delicious.” Cas’ eyes ran up the length of Dean’s body as he spoke, smirking perversely the entire way up. 

“Cas,” he struggled to stop himself from preening under the other man’s scrutiny, from trying too hard to please him.

“Already desperate for it, huh?”

“I-I came to tell you that—that whatever happened back there, it won’t happen again. It can’t.”  
“Uh-huh.” Cas nodded sternly, hands reaching out through the bars to grasp the waist of Dean’s pants, long fingers running along the waistband before sharply tugging him closer. Inches away, he could feel the heat of the other man’s breath ghost across his lips when he spoke. “Know what I think, Dean?”

“Wh-wh-what?”

“I think you still want me to touch you,” as he spoke, one of his hands slipped further down to palm Dean’s erection through the fabric of his pants. “And, I think,” Cas yanked Dean just a little closer, forcing his face to press so far into the bars that Cas could have kissed him if he’d wanted to, “you still want to touch me, too.” 

Dean shivered, eyes falling to the curve of Castiel’s lips. He wanted to kiss him so bad, to push his tongue into that perfect mouth. “Am I warm?” Cas whispered, leaning forward to gently nip at Dean’s lower lip and eliciting some undignified sound from Dean in the process.

“Want to—Want to—”

“It’s okay, gorgeous, you can tell me what you want.”

“Want to, want to kiss you, Cas. C-can I?”  
“What are you willing to do for it, Dean?”

“Anything. Please, Cas, I’ll do anything.”

“Okay, baby. You do everything that I tell you and I’ll consider letting you kiss me. How does that sound?”

Dean nodded eagerly. In the back of his mind, he knew he should feel embarrassed by how desperate he seemed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The thought of getting to feel those soft wet lips against his was making him dizzy.

“Take off your pants and turn around.” Dean obeyed without a second thought, fumbling with his belt as he tried to kick his shoes off. After a few minutes of ungraceful struggling, he was naked from the waist down with his back to Castiel and the beginnings of a blush crawling up his skin.

“Good boy.” He cooed, hand reaching out to trace a line down Dean’s spine. The touch made him shiver, a needy heat spiraling through his body. “I want you on all fours, as close to the bars as you can get.” Dean’s heart was in his throat before Cas even finished speaking. 

“Having second thoughts?”

“No, I—” Dean turned his head around to face Cas. The man looked even more beautiful than before, eyes blown black, hand gently rubbing his own cock. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, baby. I promise,” Cas licked his lips, reaching a hand out to run through Dean’s hair. “I’m going to touch you, just like you wanted. Going to make you feel good, gorgeous, don’t you want that?”

Dean nodded, leaning back into Castiel’s hand. “Get on your knees, then. Ass up, face down. Now.” Cas growled, using his grip on Dean’s hair to push him to the ground. He wanted to yelp with the pain but bit his lip instead, not wanting to disappoint Cas any further.

Once on the ground he pushed himself as close as he could to the cell bars, going so far as to push as much of his legs through them as he could. It hurt, the cold metal pushing into his skin but it was worth it for the murmured, “Good boy,” that came from above him. 

“Now spread for me, baby boy.”

Dean tried to push his legs further apart, but the bars stopped him from moving much more. Cas laughed, spanking Dean’s ass as he spoke, “Not your legs.” Dean swallowed as he realized what Cas was asking him to do, whole body tense and embarrassed as he grabbed hold of the sides of his ass and pulled them apart. 

Behind him, he could hear Castiel’s sharp intake of breath. Encouraged, he pressed himself even closer to the bars so that there was barely any distance between them. There was a long silence and he was just about to turn when he heard Cas moving, kneeling so that he was in direct view of his hole.

He’d never let anyone look at him like this. Dean felt vulnerable and nervous, but more than that, he felt eager, wanting. “So beautiful.” Cas breathed, and Dean could feel his breath against him, the sensation making Dean gasp. Before he knew what was happening Cas was slowly, reverently, dragging his thumb against the rim of his hole. He moaned in response, hips bucking forward without his permission. 

“God, you really are perfect, so responsive. You don’t know what you’re doing to me do you? Fuck, baby, look at you.”

Dean’s head was foggy, cock rock hard and leaking precome onto the cement floor. Cas was massaging his hole now, teasing him, but there was nothing he could do. When he tried to push back onto Castiel’s finger, the bar stopped him, making him whine in frustration.

“You ever been touched like this, pretty?”

“N—ah—no!” He stuttered as Cas pulled at the ring of tight muscle, opening Dean’s body and pushing the tip of his thumb inside.

“Ever been eaten out?” Dean’s heart nearly stopped and his whole body went rigid. Cas hummed, “Guess not.” Before he had a chance to respond, Dean felt something wet and warm lick a stripe across his hole. This time, he did yelp, body trying to jerk away. Cas laughed, arms circling Dean through the bars to hold him in place while he lapped at his hole.

Dean gasped and moaned, only dimly aware that other people might hear him. He tried biting his lip to stop the sounds but it was too much, every swipe of Casitle’s tongue forced out new and humiliating sounds, causing his body to writhe and buck uncontrollably. When Cas’ tongue pushed it’s way inside him, Dean nearly cried. It wasn’t enough but he didn’t know how to ask for what he needed.

Then Cas slid a finger inside of him. He’d always imagined this would be painful, uncomfortable, make him feel somehow weaker or lesser. But that’s not what he felt right now—he felt good, felt right. The slide of Castiel’s long finger set his body on fire, like he was stroking every nerve in his body all at once. His head was swimming with pleasure, every drag and push making him more desperate and needy.

“How does that feel, baby? You want another?” Dean whimpered, nodding his head frantically and Cas obliged, another finger joining the first and stretching him open. It still wasn’t enough. He needed more. Needed to be fuller, wanted something bigger and thicker and deeper. He whined, “More, Cas, please,” as he started rocking back, fucking himself on Castiel’s hand.

“More?” Cas pushed a third finger in without any warning and let Dean fuck himself, frantically slamming his body back against the bars, trying to work the digits in deeper. “This is what you want, baby?”

Dean moaned, “Deeper, need it deeper.” Cas laughed, pushing his fingers in as far as they could go and fingering him open almost brutally. 

Once Dean was a panting, writhing mess, cock dripping all over the floor, Cas crooked his fingers and began rubbing mercilessly against Dean’s prostate. Dean shrieked, a sharp sound that quickly turned into an animalistic kind of moan. As Cas continued to fuck his ass, he felt hot puffs of hair against his hole. Before he had time to register what that meant, Cas’ tongue was licking the loose rim in time with the rhythm of his fingers.

Dean could feel the blinding build of his orgasm, his whole body shaking, muscles coiling tightly under his too hot skin. It wouldn’t have taken much to have him coming with a cry, but Cas pulled his fingers out abruptly, causing Dean to whimper at the loss and press his ass desperately to the bars, thrusting back on nothing. He tried to move but Cas stopped him, holding him still with his clenching hole on display. 

Behind him fabric rustled and a moment later he felt the hot press of Castiel’s cock nudging at his entrance. Dean moaned loudly, relief and excitement and arousal rushing through his body. Every inch of him screaming, finally finally!

Except Cas didn’t push in further than the head of his cock before stopping. Dean thought that maybe he was letting him adjust to the new thickness, but then he heard the ragged edge of Castiel’s breathing. He turned his head to look, and gasped when he saw that Cas was jerking himself off into Dean’s body. The image was both frustrating and painfully arousing—that Cas was using him as a receptacle for his come and nothing more made his need to finish even more urgent. 

Cas came quickly, grunting as he filled Dean up, pumping a near endless stream of come into his ass. When he was done he pulled out and Dean almost cried. 

“Stand up and face me if you want to finish.” Dean pulled himself up on shaking legs, tears brimming in his eyes. “Touch yourself, baby. Come for me. I want to see you, gorgeous.”

It took no more than a handful of strokes before Dean was coming with a broken sob, ass clenching around nothing. Cas ran a finger up Dean’s softening cock, catching a droplet of come and bringing it to his lips to suck the salty liquid into his mouth. Dean made a keening sound, head collapsing against the bars as he tried to catch his breath. Seconds later, he felt the other man’s hand tracing the edge of his jaw.

“You were so good, Dean,” he titled Dean’s head up, so that their eyes were level, “So perfect for me.” When he smiled, it was soft and warm and it made Dean’s heart flutter. “Do you still want to kiss me, baby?”

“Yes,” he all but whispered. When it looked like Cas had no intention of closing the distance between them, Dean added an even softer, “Please.”

Cas chuckled. “You can have one kiss, gorgeous. Since you were so good, did just what I said.” He leaned in, closing the small space between them to capture Dean’s lips in a kiss that was almost chaste. It was awkward because of the bars, neither one of them could move much, but it still felt perfect to Dean.

“Dean.” Cas breathed as he pulled away. 

“Not done kissing you.” He mumbled in response, trying to force his face through the bars.

“Put your clothes back on, pretty. Before someone walks in.”

“No one’s here but me ‘n Kev.”

“It’s later than you think. Go.”

Dean opened his eyes and sighed, turning to drag his clothes back on slowly. He didn’t turn to look back as he left, shame starting to set in, and Cas made no move to stop him. Dean wanted to scream or cry or run back and crawl into Cas’ arms. Everything was muddled in his brain, he needed sleep, needed to go home. 

Almost like a prayer was being answered, when Dean got back to the main part of the station, Victor was standing over Kevin’s desk.

“Hey, I was just about to come find you.” He smiled at Dean who gave a weak nod in response. “You look like shit. How long you been here?”

“Almost 24, I guess.”

“Shit, you need to go home.”

“Have to finish—”

“Don’t be an idiot, Dean. Go home, sleep. I don’t want to see your face again until tomorrow night.”

Dean was too tired, too boneless to argue. He could feel Castiel’s come starting to run down his leg and all he could think about was going home and collapsing. A part of him worried about leaving Cas alone with Victor, wanted to take him home and protect him, but he shook the thought from his mind. Cas was a bad guy who didn’t care about anyone but himself, didn’t care who he hurt as long as he got what he wanted. 

By the time he was home, though, he felt strangely empty. Like his bed was too big and his apartment too quiet. Which was ridiculous. Cas hadn’t ever been here before, his apartment hadn’t changed, so why did he suddenly feel so alone? He started to walk to the washroom but stopped, turning instead to his bed. Somehow the thought of cleaning himself off made him feel worse, like if he washed away the last of Cas then he’d really be alone.

So Dean went to bed feeling more alone than he had in years. He fell asleep sweaty, and boneless, and with the slightly uncomfortable sensation of cooling come in his ass, the phantom touch of Castiel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Going to jerk off. Touch myself in your bed.” Cas’ breath was ragged, voice low and gravel rough. “Only going to let you—uh—listen. Want you to do it,” he moaned lewdly, making Dean’s cock twitch, “silently. Don’t want to hear a—ah—single—ah—sound from you. Understand?”
> 
> Dean nodded, feeling like he might cry. Cry or explode, he wasn’t sure which. A bead of precome ran down the side of his dick, dripping to the floor. He bit his lip to stop from whimpering as Cas gasped and groaned behind him.

It was around four in the morning when the shrill ring of a phone sent him jolting upright, hand reaching for the gun he kept in the nightstand. Still groggy with sleep despite the adrenalin running through his body, Dean took a minute to take in his surroundings and an even longer time to realize that the phone was what woke him. Grumbling to himself about the time, he padded down the hallway to living room, answering a little more aggressively than necessary.

“What?” He demanded.

“Oh, um, sorry to wake you Dean,” Kevin’s voice crackled out through the receiver, sounding almost panicked. 

“This better be important, you know how I feel about my four hours.” He all but growled, pausing only to listen to the noise in the background. It sounded like the Captain was barking orders but that was impossible—he wasn’t due back to the station until the afternoon. “Kevin.” Dean tried to sound calm, though a terrible sinking feeling passed through him. “Tell me what’s happened.” 

“Dean. Captain Singer wanted me to put out the alert to all detectives,” Dean held his breath, suddenly knowing exactly what was going on. “It’s Castiel Novak. He’s—Dean, he’s escaped.”

Dean felt like he was going to be sick, the whole room seemed to spin around him and he gripped the edge of the table to keep from falling. Cas was at large again, and if Dean knew him at all, he’d be out for blood. Dean’s blood to be exact, and likely anyone that had aided in his arrest too. He swallowed, “I’ll be right in—”

“The captain says he wants you to sit tight.”

“Sit tight?” Dean ground out, suddenly angry.

“I believe his actual words were, ‘keep that idjit from haulin’ his sorry ass in here’. He swore a bunch when Vic tried to say you knew the guy best.”

“So I’m friggin’ benched? I caught the son of bitch in the first place!”

“Captain says you haven’t slept in a month and, uh, you’re too thick in the head to realize—”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, man, I got it.”

“Sorry, Dean.”

“Whatever.” He twirled the cord around his fingers, thinking about his next move. If Bobby was knocking him off the case, maybe he could just work from home through Kevin. “Okay, brief me. I want to know what the plan is, immediate and long term.”

“As far as I know we’re setting up a full scale manhunt. Captain has us putting up road blocks at all the exists out of town and he’s already contacted the neighboring townships, advising them to do the same. I think if this goes on for much long he’s going to start search—”   
There was a loud scuffling noise, followed by what sounded like yelling and then someone shouting, “Balls!” 

Dean sighed when he could hear someone breathing on the other end. “Hey, Bobby, listen—”

“Don’t you tell me to listen, boy. I should drive over to that hole of an apartment and make you see sense.”

“You can’t just cut me out of this investigation! I’m the closest thing you have to an expert on Cas—tiel.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? I ain’t cuttin’ you out of any investigation. You're comin’ in tomorrow to help but I don’t wanna see your ugly mug ‘round here until then. Got it?”

“Fine.”

“Afternoon Dean. If I see you poking around or catch you try’na talk poor Kevin into helping you skirt my orders, so help me.”

“Got it, Bobby! I swear.”

“Good. Go to sleep.”

The phone cut out and Dean stood there for a minute just listening to the static. How could Bobby expect him to just go to sleep? Cas was out there somewhere, was gone. Dean tried to push the empty feeling from his chest and focus on the fear instead. Now was not the time to be feeling disappointed that you might never see a criminal again.

Almost as if on cue, a rivulet of come dribbled down his leg. He groaned, storming back toward his bed. It was too dammed early to be thinking about Cas. Maybe Bobby was on to something about the whole sleeping thing.

He flopped back onto his bed, quietly tracing the patterns in the ceiling while he tried to calm his body down enough to sleep. The apartment was completely silent expect for the sound of the clock ticking and, wait. Dean sat up again, eyes slowly scanning the room. Something wasn’t right, there was a sound like, like, he tried to pinpoint it. It was almost like someone was swallowing, or licking their lips.

And that’s when he saw him, a dark shadow leaning against the wall looking out the window. The man’s back was to Dean but even in the dark he could tell exactly who it was. His heart was in his throat, mind repeating this is it, this is it over and over as he realized that he was about to die.

Dean licked his lips, taking a deep breath before whispering the name, “Cas.”

The room was completely silent again. The man slowly set down the glass he’d been holding before turning toward the bed. The dim light pouring in from the window caught his teeth, illuminating an almost dangerous looking smirk. Dean’s whole body was thumping with fear, there was no way he was going to make it to his gun in time and no point in trying to run, Cas was too close. He watched him casually stride over to the bed, running his fingers along the mattress as he moved to stand in front of Dean.

“Hello Dean.” His voice was even rougher than normal and it made Dean feel as hot as it made him scared.

“W-w-what ar—” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence because Cas was wrapping his fingers around Dean’s ankle and yanking him down to the edge of the bed. He tried to scream but Cas was too fast, pressing his body so hard against Dean’s that it was hard to breath. One hand stayed clutching his ankle while the other came up to cover his mouth as he leaned in to whisper in his ear. 

“You think you’re an expert, pretty?” His breath was hot and wet, sending a shiver through Dean’s body. “Think you know something about me?” The grip on his ankle tightened, keeping his legs spread as Cas pulled back enough so there bodies weren’t pressed together anymore. If he hadn’t been terrified, he might have tried to chase the warm weight as it left him. Instead, he just trembled slightly, the room suddenly almost too cold to bear.

“I should make you prove it.” Cas hummed, slowly grinding himself against Dean’s groin. “What do you think, Dean?” 

There was just enough light in the room to make out how hungry Cas looked, like he was going to devour Dean. That thought sent another confusing mix of fear and heat coiling through his body, and with the way Cas was grinding his erection against him, he didn’t stand a chance. Against his better judgment, Dean could feel himself getting harder and harder. He closed his eyes and let out a muffled groan.

Cas chuckled, pressing himself harder against Dean’s body. “I knew you’d want it.” He breathed. “See, I’m a bit of an expert on you too. I know you’re a filthy little boy.” He ran the hand that had been wrapped around his ankle down his thigh, making Dean moan and spill his legs open wider. He moved up Dean’s length, stopping to massage the head of his cock through his boxers.

“My pretty cockslut, always so desperate for it.” Cas smirked. “Bet you didn’t even clean yourself up when you got home.” His hand raked down to press at Dean’s rim. “Kept that sweet hole of yours stuffed full of my come, didn’t you?” He pushed the tip of his thumb past the loose ring of muscle, laughing at the wet stain on Dean’s underwear when he pulled it back out. “Liked the reminder of my cock, my fingers, my tongue, didn't you?” 

Dean whined, trying to buck his hips up in search of more friction but Cas stilled his movement, pinning him back against the bed with his body. “I’ve got you, baby.” He cooed as he rocked against him. “If I move my hand you’re going to be good, aren’t you?” He nodded frantically and Cas finally peeled his hand away from his mouth.

“Cas.” He gasped. “Cas, I, can I—ah—want to kiss you. Please, I—” Cas leaned down to crush their lips together, licking his way inside Dean’s mouth. The kiss was hot and desperate; the way their tongues slid together making Dean shiver and press himself into Cas’ firm, warm body. He let himself go pliant under the other man as he licked and bit and sucked Dean’s lips swollen and raw.

It felt so much better now without the bars separating them, in the comfort of Dean’s home, his bed. The way Castiel’s hands ran reverently up and down the sides of his body, the heat of him, the taste. Dean was so lost in sensation he barely even registered that Cas was flipping him over, pushing him onto his stomach.

“Going to find out how much of an expert you are.” He growled into Dean’s neck, nipping at the sensitive skin. “Going to see how well this body,” a hand slowly trailed down his back, then sharply yanked Dean’s underwear below the curve of his ass, “can please me.” 

A hand came down hard, the pain sending a confusing mix of pain and pleasure through his body. He was getting harder, panting when Cas brought his hand down a second time. The third and fourth made him cry out but the pain was quickly soothed by a series of uncharacteristically gentle kisses pressed into the swollen skin. 

“Perfect.” He sighed, lips tracing the shape of his hand that he’d left on Dean’s ass and then moving closer to the crack. Cas spread him open and ran his tongue across his hole. It was a barely there kind of touch but it had Dean moaning wantonly, pressing back against the other man’s mouth.

Instead of licking him again, Cas slid his thumb inside and used it to pull out some of the come, rubbing the slick around the outside of his rim. “Wanted to fuck you properly, baby. Wanted to give you what you needed.” He slid the finger in and out slowly, setting a rhythm that had Dean making desperate noises.

“How did you find me, Cas?” He managed to gasp out into the mattress. 

Cas made a loud hurt noise, slapping Dean’s ass while he spoke. “I’m hurt, gorgeous. Do you really think I don’t know everything about you?” Two fingers suddenly replaced the thumb, rocking in and out of his loose rim. The rhythm was still too slow, driving him crazy. “I-I-I don’t need anymore prep, want you now.” He was already stretched from earlier and didn’t understand why Cas was taking his time like this.

“I know you’re loose and sloppy, baby.” A hand pulled sharply at Dean’s hair, forcing his head up. Cas licked a stripe up to his ear. “I just like you desperate.” He punctuated the thought by pushing in a third finger and rubbing against his prostate. The whine that came out of Dean was pained, almost more of a wail than anything.

“That’s more like it.” The other man breathed, smiling into his neck. Dean turned his head, trying to meet Cas’ lips. The kiss was more frantic than before and the contrast between his fingers and tongue made the slow pace even more painful. 

He thought about rubbing his cock onto the mattress, try to alleviate some of the pressure, but he already knew that would make Cas angry. And now was not the time to be bad. Dean wanted to be a good boy, to be an obedient body for Cas to use. The thought did nothing to help his situation.

“You were so good today. So good for me.” The words were hot on his sweaty skin, making him preen and arch his back. The other man sighed above him, driving his fingers in deeper. “Want to reward you, gorgeous. Never would have escaped without you.” 

Dean gasped, what had Cas just said? He tried to struggle out free from Castiel but the man was holding him too tightly, and every movement he made only served to drive the fingers in further. Cas was laughing as Dean’s panic increased, “Easy, baby boy. Relax.”

“Let me up! Let me up! Let me—nyuh,” He didn’t get a chance to finish that thought because Cas replaced his fingers with his cock and every nerve in Dean’s body was screaming finally. His head collapsed back onto the mattress, eyes rolling back in his head with the pleasure of it. He felt Cas’ body press up against the back of his thighs, completely inside his body.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked, pulling out and sliding back inside, the head of his dick pressing against Dean’s prostate as he did so. One of the man’s hands held his hips but the other was circling around his waist to wrap around his cock. Dean couldn’t form words, this was the first time Cas had touched him like this and it was more amazing than he’d imagined.

“I don’t think you want that, Dean. I think you want to keep being my good,” he thrust sharply, “perfect,” another thrust, “baby.” He set up a punishing rhythm, fucking hard into to Dean’s body nailing his prostate every time he pushed back in. His hand picked up speed, now pumping in time with his cock.

All it took was a sharp twist of his wrist and Dean was coming all over Cas’ hand, a broken and wordless sob spilling from his lips. The other man continued to stroke him through his orgasm, milking him for everything it was worth. He thrust a few more times before joining Dean, filling him with more of his come. They stayed like that for a minute, just breathing as Cas’ cock softened and slipped free.

Dean immediately collapsed, all thoughts of what the other man had said gone from his mind. Cas didn’t waste any time cuddling—walking straight to the bathroom to wash himself off. It was a bit surprising when he came back with a warm cloth for Dean and bit less surprising when he tossed it in his face with a grunted, “Clean yourself up.”

Still, the whole thing made him smile and he found himself ducking his head so that Cas wouldn’t see. The come came off easily and he realized how much better he felt now that he was clean. Well, mostly clean. By the time he looked back up, though, Cas had already slid back into his slacks and was feeling around for his shirt.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question and Dean tried to force the words to sound neutral, casual.

Cas laughed but didn’t turn around to face him, “I’m spent, Dean. I can’t fuck you again.”

“Cas.” So maybe he sounded upset and a little needy, but still! He wasn’t allowed to just screw him like that and then walk out forever. “Don’t go.” His voice was small, the words almost a whisper.

There was a sigh and then Cas was turning around, cold tired eyes meeting his. “You know I can’t stay. I’m on the run. I don’t have a choice.”

“That’s exactly why you should stay!” He protested, “Just the night, just—”

“I have to get out of the city, Dean. There’s a plan.”

“The captain set up roadblocks at all the exits,” he blurted out. Cas’ eyes widened, but he didn’t look entirely surprised. “Called all the surrounding towns to do the same.” They stared at each other in silence for a long time, before Dean finally flushed and turned away. “They’ll catch you if you leave.” He whispered, refusing to look at the other man.

“Dean.” 

“Stay, Cas. Just stay the night with me.”

“I’ll be caught if I—”

“Not if you’re here. They’re going to start searching houses soon, but, but they won’t search here. You’re safer here.”

“I—”

“Stay.”

Dean didn’t look up until he felt the bed dip. Cas had taken his pants off again and was crawling up the bed toward him, a soft almost affectionate expression on his face. “Okay.” He breathed before leaning forward to capture Dean’s lips in a kiss. The slow slide of tongue was meant to be comforting not arousing, and he let himself melt into it. “Since you were so good, baby,” he spoke the words between kisses, whispering them into Dean’s skin. “So good,” he murmured again and again. 

Eventually the kissing slowed, and Dean tucked himself into Castiel’s arms, head resting just below the other man’s chin. He felt strangely safe, happier and more sated than he could remember. A small part of him felt worried, ashamed, and scared. A quiet voice telling him he should be afraid, that it was his fault Cas escaped, that he was falling asleep in the arms of known killer. But he didn’t want to think about that now, so he pushed all those thoughts away into some dark corner of his brain and nuzzled in closer to Castiel’s warm skin.

Dean woke up alone and cold in his bed sometime around ten. A sinking feeling ran through him and he sat up to scan the room, but there was no sign of Cas anywhere. He flopped back down and stared up the ceiling. Belatedly, he realized the shower was being turned off and a few seconds later a very naked Castiel came out of the bathroom toweling his wet hair. 

The sight of all those miles of smooth, tanned skin made his mouth go dry. It was the first time that he’d really gotten a chance to appreciate Cas naked and the man was even more beautiful in the day than last night. Dean almost whimpered as his eyes raked over the toned body, swallowing hard when his eyes drifted down to the man’s cock. 

It just looked so appetizing. Perfect and pink and already half hard from whatever Cas had been doing with himself in the shower. That thought made him flush, his body responding eagerly to images of hot water and soapy hands.

Cas looked up from beneath the towel at the sound of Dean sighing and smirked at the sight of Dean’s growing erection. “See something you like, pretty?” He purred, hand smoothing down his stomach and wrapping around his cock. He started stroking himself lazily, watching the way it made Dean squirm and lick his lips. 

Cas’ smiled turned wolfish as their eyes met. “Go make me some coffee and I’ll think about letting you touch me.”

Before he’d even finished the sentence, Dean had jumped out of bed and was rushing toward the kitchen to put the kettle on. With the water boiling on the stove, he started fumbling around in the cabinet looking for the instant. He could see Castiel’s eyes on his back, watching him work, and the thought did nothing to lessen his now substantial erection.

When he chanced a look behind him, he saw Cas sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Dean intently as he jerked himself off slowly. “Fuck you look good, gorgeous.” He called. “Love how hard that cute little prick gets for me.”

Dean couldn’t wait to get back to the bedroom and reap his reward. He wanted to lick and suck his way up and down Cas’ body, wanted to hear the man come apart because of his mouth. The kettle screeched and he nearly spilled the hot water all over himself in his rush to fill the mug, and then nearly spilt it again as he practically ran back to Cas.

He stood in front of the bed, watching Cas sip the coffee. The man made a face, meeting Dean’s gaze coldly. “This the best coffee you have, baby? I can’t say I’m impressed.” He shook his head, taking another long sip. Dean rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting for Cas to let him touch. “Not impressed at all.” He set the cup down and leaned back against the headboard, pumping his fist a little faster. 

“Cas.” Dean started to complain.

“Do you really think you deserve to touch me after that?” He used the hand not touching himself to motion in the direction of the coffee. Dean ducked his head, feeling strangely ashamed.

“Go stand in the corner. Face to the wall, hands behind your head.” Dean flushed, color creeping down his whole body as he made his way over to the corner and turned. 

“Good boy.” He could hear Cas spit, then the slick sound of his hand moving up and down his shaft. Dean was so hard he felt lightheaded, but he resisted the urge to touch himself, straining to hear Cas instead.

“Going to jerk off. Touch myself in your bed.” Cas’ breath was ragged, voice low and gravel rough. “Only going to let you—uh—listen. Want you to do it,” he moaned lewdly, making Dean’s cock twitch, “silently. Don’t want to hear a—ah—single—ah—sound from you. Understand?”

Dean nodded, feeling like he might cry. Cry or explode, he wasn’t sure which. A bead of precome ran down the side of his dick, dripping to the floor. He bit his lip to stop from whimpering as Cas gasped and groaned behind him.

“Fuck, you’ve got a great ass. Made for spanking.” Dean could hear the slapping sound of Cas fucking into his own hand, could hear the punishing rhythm he’d set for himself. Dean closed his eyes, breaths coming out in pants that matched Cas’ own. He imagined these were the sounds of Cas fucking into his body, slamming himself against Dean’s ass.

“And that hole.” He groaned, “God it’s so tight, baby. Almost came the second I stuffed my cock inside you.” Dean’s arms hurt from how tightly he was gripping them behind his head, his cock aching painfully between his legs. Behind him, Cas was making the most beautiful sounds and he could picture the head of his cock disappearing in and out of his fist. His teeth dug painfully into his lip as he tried to stop himself from making any sounds.

“Thought about fucking you for years, gorgeous.” He spit again, amplifying the slippery sound of smacking flesh. “The minute I found out what the—uh—cop—fuck—tailing me looked—ah—like. Fuck, Dean.” He groaned, the sound of his hand moving even faster. “Used to watch you jerk off. Watched you,” he gasped, “touching yourself right here, when you thought no one was looking.” He panted. “Heard you say my name, Dean. Knew how bad you wanted my cock. Knew how hard you were when you were—ah—interrogating me.”

Dean’s eyes were scrunched shut so tightly he knew he’d see spots the next time he opened them. The sound of Cas’ jerking himself off, the sound of his voice as he moaned and talked was all too much. A steady stream of precome was falling from his cock to the ground, dick twitching and straining, begging for attention. He wanted to scream, the pressure building and building in his body. His legs were trembling, muscles coiling tightly, a heat starting in his stomach and oh god—

“Even better than I ima-a-gined though, you’re such a—fuck—good boy, take my cock so—ah—perfectly. Look so—yes, fuck—perfect split open, begging for it harder, deeper.” Cas moaned one more time and then Dean’s body was seizing up and he was shouting as he came all over his stomach and the wall. Distantly he heard Cas saying, “Fuck, did you just come?” before crying out a litany of oh fuck and so hot and dean dean dean.

For his part he collapsed kneeling on the floor, head pressed against the wall, just under the place where he’d come. His breath was harsh and erratic, heart pounding and head swimming. He must have blacked out for a minute because when opened his eyes again Cas was standing over him, stroking his hair and holding out a glass of water. Dean took the water with a slight nod of acknowledgement, still unable to form any words and only dimly aware of what was going on. 

“Sorry,” he croaked after a minute, remembering how he’d disobeyed Cas and shouted. 

The other man just laughed, “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, gorgeous. You don’t need to apologize.” Dean leaned against Castiel’s leg, too weak to do anything else.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Dean nodded as Cas reached around him, hooking one arm behind his back and the other under his knees before lifting him into his arms. He knew this should be embarrassing but he was too lightheaded and blissed out to really care. It felt nice, being bridled carried, pressed up against Cas’ chest and neck.

When they got to the bed Cas deposited him on the side without a wet spot and stroked a hand through his hair. “Such a good boy,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head before walking away down the hall. 

Dean woke up ten minutes later, feeling better than he had in years. He could hear that Cas was still there, making noises in his kitchen. He also heard the sound of Cas speaking and he strained to catch the words. It sounded like he was on the phone. 

“I am fully aware, Balthazar.” There was a pause and then, “When I say it’s blocked I mean it’s blocked, I can’t get out of the city.” He growled. “We just need to lay low for another day or so. Be patient, nothing’s changed. We planned for this, just keep watch and let me know if anything changes.” There was a much longer pause before Cas sighed, “Yes, I have a safe place to hideout. I’ll be fine. Take care, Balth. I’ll call again when I can.”

There was a long moment where Dean struggled under the weight of his renewed realization that Cas was still Castiel Novak, The Angel, a criminal. And not just any criminal but a dangerous person, someone whose job it was satisfy the whims of one of the biggest crime families in the U.S. Some estimated that he’d murdered upwards of a hundred people, some even more than that. The problem was that Castiel’s justice was absolute and almost graceful when it came to killing that it was almost impossible to find any evidence. 

He berated himself quietly. Somewhere in the sex and lust and novelty of being with Cas he’d let himself forget what this man really was, what he was capable of doing. He couldn’t believe that he’d taken comfort in him, that he’d wanted to debase himself to please him. He felt like he was going to throw up. Had it really somehow been his fault that Cas had escaped? The worse part about that line of thought wasn’t even that he might have let a criminal escape but that Cas had used him, that all of this was just a game.

From the kitchen, he could here whistling and the sound of something frying. He wanted to cry, to run away but at the same time he wanted Cas to hold him and tell him everything would be alright. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself back through time.

A few minutes later, he was almost unwillingly drawn out from the bedroom by the smell of bacon. Cas was making breakfast and it smelled amazing. He couldn’t help himself, he loved breakfast, his body was practically conditioned to react well to anything breakfast related. So he pushed his worries about Cas and what they were doing aside, slipped on a pair of underwear and nervously padded down the hall.

Tentatively, he took a seat at the kitchen table. Without turning around or acknowledging him, Cas leaned back to set a mug of coffee in front of Dean. He blinked down at the cup, marveling at Cas’s unparalleled ability to make him feel simultaneously worthless and cherished. 

“Cas,” the man just hummed his response, scrapping a pile of eggs and bacon onto Dean’s plate. “I, um, what are you—I mean, what do we do now.”

There was a long moment of silence, broken only when Cas sat down. “I leave and you keep trying to catch me, I guess.” He shrugged and that was it. The rest of the meal went by in silence, there wasn’t anything left to say. Dean would let him leave, give him a head start, and then pour himself into the search to capture him again. That was how it should be, everything going back to normal. Only that thought only seemed to make him feel worse.

When the meal was done Dean got up and headed toward the bathroom, casting a nervous look back at Cas. “Don’t sneak off while I’m in the shower.” He all but whispered.

“I’ll be here.” Cas said, not turning from where he was doing the dishes. He felt his heat sink. Walking into the bathroom Dean realized he already knew that Cas would be gone before he finished showering. He sighed, turning the water as hot as it would go and then curling in on himself on the floor of the tub.

Dean hugged his body tightly, feeling suddenly empty. The apartment already felt too quiet, loneliness creeping in around him. He closed his eyes and tried to will the feeling away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who's still reading this! It was only supposed to be a one shot and now it's getting out of control. There will be more plot things in the next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panties. Inside were five pairs of expensive women’s underwear—pink satin, white lace, a pale blue with a lace trim, black satin, and a pink silk pair with delicate looking bows around the thighs. Dean’s mouth went dry, palms sweating, head a dizzy mess. In his shock it took him a few minutes to notice that his cock had started to stir, hardening slightly in his pants. No one asked you, he snapped, appalled and confused by his own reaction to contents of the package.
> 
> It struck him that maybe this whole thing had been a mistake and that these were meant for some beautiful woman living in the building. All of the gifts made so much more sense—the coffee, the scotch, the lingerie, it was all for some tasteful lady. He almost wanted to laugh. All this time he’d been so confused, so concerned. Feeling relieved, he bent down to pick up the note that had fallen, hoping for some clue as to who the packages really belong to. 
> 
> Written in the same blue pen and elegant handwriting as the first ones were the words: 
> 
> Wear them to work for me, like a good little boy. xoxo, C.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! I'm sorry if this chapter seems a bit rushed, I wanted to get something up today but I'm ridiculously swamped with school and work things. 
> 
> I also apologize in advance if the next chapter isn't up by next week, things will calm down after sunday so if I can't update before that I will update shortly after.

It had been two months since, well, since Novak escaped from custody and things finally felt like normal again. Today marked two weeks since Dean had returned to service and everything was just normal enough to convince himself that it’d all been some kind of weird dream. 

The escape had taken its toll on the entire department, he was pretty sure Kevin hadn’t left the station for a month—kid smelled like something had died and was greasier than a mechanic. Benny and Vic barely had a chance to catch their breaths and Bobby nearly gave himself a heart attack trying to convene a countywide search. To be honest, it was going to hard to forget exactly how not awesome things had been. 

During that first week, Bobby decided to take him off the case and put him on mandatory paid leave. It was his fault, after—well—after Novak had left, Dean sort of stop being able to handle himself. His brain took a vacation and left him a heaping pile of useless. Day after day he’d just walk around in this half-dean state, out of his mind with guilt and shame and loneliness. There was a hole inside him now, an emptiness that his body couldn’t fill. Nothing could satisfy the ache, not booze, or women, or—when he was really drunk and very lonely—the fingers he’d slide in and out of his body.

Bobby had been worried, mumbled something about needing to take a few weeks to sort himself out and that was that, Dean was benched. Sam was worried too and took an entire week off at the firm and spent most of that time trying to sober Dean him. Eventually the bitchfaces worked, though, and by the end of his leave he wasn’t feeling quite so pathetic. Or, at least, he was feeling newly determined to make amends for whatever part his stupidity had played in letting Novak escape.

Which translated to a hell of a lot of dedicated overtime, trying to ease some of the guilt weighing him down. The extra work had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that his apartment felt so terribly empty, that he couldn’t bear the thought of going home, that no matter how many times he cleaned his sheets they still smelled like—

He wasn’t going to go there. With the new change in attitude he’d vowed never to think about that man as anything other than a criminal. He refused to refer to him as anything other than Novak or, occasionally, The Angel. Now, every time he’d get that ache, that feeling like he was too empty to bear, like he needed another body to press its way inside him, he’d fight the urge. It was an addiction and Dean Winchester was no addict, not a slave to anything other than himself and certainly not to that, to that man. 

Anyway, there’d been no sign of the criminal at all since the escape. Somehow he’d managed to navigate around the roadblocks and searches and actually got the hell out of Lawrence. They figured he was probably so far out of the county by now that they’d never catch him. And maybe it was better that way, let some other poor bastards waste their lives chasing the son of a bitch. 

Friday, Bobby had started assigning cases unrelated to The Angel’s disappearance so today was the day Dean got to put it all behind him. The world was moving on and he was more than happy to let it take him anywhere it wanted. This was possibly the best Monday in his entire life, so great he couldn’t help whistling the entire way through his shower and all the way to the pantry. It was 6:20am and he even had time for a cup of coffee before heading over to the station where Benny was waiting with something new and mundane to occupy their time.

He was lost in thought when he opened the pantry, rummaging through the shelves in search of the container of instant while his mind ran through all the potential cases they could be assigned. For whatever reason the smell of coffee was unusually good and strong this morning. The jar wasn’t even visible but the whole pantry just smelled so good. He sighed, happy. It was probably just another manifestation of his good mood, so he smiled and started whistling again.

After a good few minutes he gave up and peered inside. Not being able to find it was strange, he always kept the jar in the exact same place and didn’t have a habit of moving things around carelessly. The smell was so strong that it couldn’t have been coming from anywhere other than the pantry but he just couldn’t find—

That’s when he saw it, eyes landing on a small brown bag with a note attached to the side. He blinked and stared at the bag for a long time before cautiously picking it up and staring some more. This didn’t make sense this wasn’t his bag. He had never purchased this bag and he had never put it in the pantry. 

Dean moved toward the kitchen table, all but collapsing in the chair, eyes still trained on the bag in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he unrolled the top and looked at its contents. It was coffee. Amazing, delicious, beautiful smelling coffee, quite possibly the best thing he’d ever smelled. He sniffed it again to make sure and—oh yeah—that was good. 

Hesitantly, he set the bag on the table. Sam, he thought, thinking that Sam had probably switched the coffee the last time he was over. Dean huffed a laugh at how ridiculous he was being over a freaking bag of ground coffee beans, and reached for the note. He very carefully unfolded the paper, frowning when he saw what was written on it. Scrawled immaculately in blue pen was, xoxo, and nothing more.

This didn’t make any sense at all. Sam would never have said—he dropped the note, letting it flutter to the ground, and turned his eyes back to the bag in horror. His heart was pounding in his ears, he tried to stand but only ended up stumbling over the chair. No, no, no, no, no, his mind repeated again and again as he practically crawled to the other end of the room. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this should not be happening. Terrified, he brought his knees up to his chest and closed his eyes, trying to breath.

About an hour later there was a loud banging on his door, that jolted him awake. He was lying on the floor confused and blinking for a minute before the banging picked up again. “Dean! Dean!” He groaned, pulling himself up and shooting a fearful look toward the bag. It was still there, mocking him from the kitchen table. The banging continued, getting even more frantic. 

“Calm down, Sammy! I’m friggin coming.” He mumbled loud enough that his brother stopped pounding his Sasquatch fists against the door. Dean unlocked it, glaring pointedly at his brother. “You’re gonna break the door down, bitch.”

“You had me so worried!” He shouted, pushing his way into the apartment. “Jerk.” He added, shoving Dean slightly on his way to the kitchen. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Shooting his brother a cocky grin as he walked back toward the kitchen table.

“Bobby called.” Shit, Dean thought, realizing how late he was for work. “Said you never showed up. They tried calling you but you didn’t answer.” 

“You working for Bobby now?” He teased, trying to lighten the mood and convey how totally, perfectly fine everything was. 

“Dean.” Judging by the stern look he just got, Sam wasn’t having any of his forced cheerfulness. 

He laughed awkwardly, one last valiant effort to ease some of the concern off his brother’s face. “I’m fine, seriously.”

Sam watched him silently for a minute and then asked, very seriously, “Are you drunk?”

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times before the question snuck in enough to make him angry. “Do I even seem drunk?” He snapped, probably more cruelly than he should have.

“No!” Sam sputtered, clearly surprised by his brother’s reaction. “Well, I don’t know.” He paused, eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Everyone’s kind of worried that maybe you, you drank too much and—” He stopped, looking sternly at Dean who seemed to have deflated a bit under his words. “Dean.” He said softly, comfortingly. “What’s going on? What happened?” 

He sighed, frowning at the bag in front of him. “I don’t know, Sammy.” He mumbled, considering whether to tell Sam about the coffee. After all, it could be some kind of weird prank but if he took the risk and asked him, it would mean having to talk about, well, that night, and that was just not going to happen. “I’m, uh, I think I’m coming down with something.” The words came out fast, almost panicked. “I would’ve called in but I fell asleep at the table.” Then, as an after thought, added, “I’m fine. Really. I’ll call Bobby.”

Sam gave him this pinched, frustrated look, like he knew Dean was lying but wasn’t going to press the issue. He felt guilty, hating lying to his brother but sometimes it was just better that he didn’t know everything. If he ever found about that it was Dean’s fault Ca—Novak got away, he’d never look at him the same way again. They stared at each other for a long time in silence before Sam got up and started trying to pull some breakfast together.

“Don’t they need you for some big shot lawyery things back at the office?” Dean joked and, much to his relief, Sam huffed out a laugh. 

“Told them I had to deal with a client. Guy’s a real baby, so it’ll probably take all morning.” Sam didn’t even turn around from the stove, but Dean could practically hear the kid’s big dumb grin.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Chuckles.” He couldn’t help smiling either. Maybe today wasn’t ruined. After breakfast he called Bobby, sputtered out a few apologies and assurances, listened to the man sputter a few insults in response, and then promised to be in by lunch. By the time Dean had settled himself in for bed that night, he’d completely forgotten about the mysterious coffee bag.

A week later the second object appeared in his apartment. This time, it was an expensive bottle of scotch, something Dean would never have been able to afford. In fact, he was pretty sure he didn’t know anyone who could have afforded something as extravagant as that. Looking at the bottle made him feel this strange mix of nervous and excited and he spent the whole day on edge.

What were these even supposed to be? If they were from Novak, he should probably report the break-ins. After all, it would mean that the man was back in the city and pretty close by, too. The things themselves could also end up being pretty dangerous. What if the scotch was poisoned or the objects were some kind of threat, a warning that The Angel could break in at any time?

Only Novak wouldn’t do that kind of thing. If he wanted to kill him, he’d have done it when he snuck in and they both knew Dean would never talk so there was no reason to threaten him. It probably wasn’t even him, just Sam or someone playing a trick. Still, that bottle was too expensive for Sam—

Exactly one week later, on Monday, the third object appeared and actually managed to turn Dean a shade of red he didn’t know human beings were capable of turning. It was there when he woke up, the small innocent looking package waiting for him on the nightstand. The second his eyes landed on the brown paper, his heat started beating hard in his chest, pounding and pounding and making it hard to breath. Somehow it felt even more like a violation than the other ones, the idea that someone had been beside him while he was sleeping, while he vulnerable—he tried not to think about that.

For a while he considered not opening the package at all. He got up, showered, made himself some instant coffee, refusing to use the good quality stuff now buried at the back of the pantry, and left for work. He managed until Wednesday before curiosity got the better of him and he just had to rip the damn thing open.

The second he got home he stormed back toward the bedroom, furious with himself for the lack of conviction, and ripped open the plain brown paper of the package. His eyes went wide and his whole body went red, as he flung the thing across the room in a mix of horror and embarrassment. Heart hammering in his ears, it took him ten whole minutes to muster up the courage to retrieve the package, needing to make sure that what he saw was really what he saw. 

Panties. Inside were five pairs of expensive women’s underwear—pink satin, white lace, a pale blue with a lace trim, black satin, and a pink silk pair with delicate looking bows around the thighs. Dean’s mouth went dry, palms sweating, head a dizzy mess. In his shock it took him a few minutes to notice that his cock had started to stir, hardening slightly in his pants. No one asked you, he snapped, appalled and confused by his own reaction to contents of the package.

It struck him that maybe this whole thing had been a mistake and that these were meant for some beautiful woman living in the building. All of the gifts made so much more sense—the coffee, the scotch, the lingerie, it was all for some tasteful lady. He almost wanted to laugh. All this time he’d been so confused, so concerned. Feeling relieved, he bent down to pick up the note that had fallen, hoping for some clue as to who the packages really belong to. 

Written in the same blue pen and elegant handwriting as the first ones were the words, Wear them to work for me, like a good little boy. xoxo, C.

Dean thought he was going to pass out. It took him the entire week just to look at them again, and the rest of the weekend to work up the courage to try a pair on. It was Monday and, thankfully, there was no sign of another gift. That’s when he decided to do it, to finally put one on. He closed his eyes and ran a hand reverently over the pile of fabric neatly stacked on his nightstand, fingers caressing the satin and lace and silk. He closed his hand around the pink silk, the bows just too much to resist. It was a beautiful pair, he had to admit, and as he pulled it free his heart started to beat with excitement. 

Naked in front of the mirror, he took a deep breath and bent down to pull the panty over his legs. The slide of silk against his skin sent shivers up his spine. Nothing, though, could compare to the feeling of the soft fabric brushing against his cock and ass. He was half hard by the time they were completely on and he stroked himself through the material for a minute, revelling in the smoothness, the cool velvety sensation.

He turned around in the mirror admiring the way they looked on his body, the image only making his dick strain harder, a spot of precome darkening the front. Dean wanted to touch himself more than anything, to jerk off just like this and come right in his underwear. But there wasn’t any time and he didn’t want to rush it. Instead, he took another breath and slipped his pants on, ignoring the way his entire body seemed to protest and the jolt of arousal when the zip pressed tight against him.

Needless to say he was hard in his pants the entire day. Every time he’d move, the silk would shift and slide against his aching dick. In the interrogation room he’d accidentally moaned out loud after sitting down had caused some delicious friction. When it was finally time to leave he barely acknowledge anyone, nearly running two people over in the rush to get home, rip his work clothes off, and touch himself.

It was dark and quiet when he got in but for once it didn’t bother him, the urgency of his arousal outweighing the emptiness of the apartment. He ran toward the bedroom, ripping clothing off on the way, not wanting to waste a second more than he had to with undressing. When he finally flopped down onto his bed, he was naked expect for the panties—cool silk sliding across his oversensitive skin.

Tenderly, he ran his hands up and down his body, letting his fingers brush against the soft material. He closed his eyes, biting back a smile as he trailed over the head of his cock. The feeling made him moaned lewdly, arching his back with the pleasure. Carefully he began stroking himself through the fabric, setting a slow rhythm, not wanting to finish too quickly. Other hand pinching at his nipples, making him gasp, before eventually dragging down to message his balls. 

“Enjoying the presents, I see.” Came a deep rumbling voice from the doorway. Dean’s eyes shot open, hoping to god that he’d just imagined the sound. But there he was, leaning against the doorframe smirking. The man looked good, standing there in a tight white dress-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, blue tie hanging loose around his neck. The expensive black pants he was wearing hugged tightly around his ass and crotch, emphasizing the bulge of his erection. 

Dean swallowed, not sure what to do, not sure how he felt. “C-C-Cas?” He managed to stutter out, betraying his nerves. Cas’ smirked turned into a hungry grin, his eyes looked almost black in the dim light of the room. 

“Hello Dean.” He loosened the tie a bit more and then walked toward the bed, leaning over enough that he had to brace himself against the bed, arms on either side of Dean body. If he’d lifted his legs onto the mattress, he would have been completely on top of Dean. “You started without me.” He said, pretending to pout.

Suddenly Dean felt angry. He felt very, very angry. How dare Cas just show up like this unwelcome and unwanted, just when everything was starting to make sense again. Dean felt his body move without his permission, reaching up to push the other man away from him. Not expecting such a violent reaction, Cas hadn’t braced himself properly and ended up falling to the floor. Dean scrambled up the bed, drawing his knees in tight to hide his body. “No.” He hissed, glaring at the startled man on the floor. “You don’t get to do that.”

“What’s the matter, baby? I thought you missed me.” Dean expected Cas to mad but he just looked amused. He thinks I’m playing hard to get, Dean realized, the thought making him even angrier.

“Why would I miss some lowlife criminal?” All of the anger he’d repressed for weeks was bubbling up under his skin, making him want to lash out, to scream and yell and hurt the other man.

“Ouch.” Cas stood, smile dropping, eyes narrowing in some approximation of concern. 

“I should have turned you in. I should have just come clean about everything and turned you in.” Dean shouted. “Do you even understand the pain you’ve caused? How much your actions have cost the department? Do you?” For some reason, tears were prickling in his eyes and his body trembled under the force of his anger.

Castiel just laughed. “You police would be out of a job if us lowlife criminals did what we were supposed to. I doubt they were hurt by my actions, Dean.”

“Well they were, Cas!” He snapped, not quite sure what he was saying. “They were extremely hurt by your actions! Everyone was! You just fucking left Cas! You said you weren’t going to but you did, anyway. You hurt people, you hurt me.” The tears were threatening to stream down his cheeks now but he refused to look away, to back down.

“You,” He said softly, head tilting a bit in confusion. “Dean, you think I—”

“Was I not good enough for you?” The question fell out of his mouth without any warning, he hadn’t even been aware that he’d been thinking it. “Was it not even worth your time to say goodbye to me?” He sniffled, anger deflating a bit. “You used me, Cas. You used me and then you left me when I was no good anymore.” He all but whispered.

“Dean.” Cas said surprised, coming over to the bed and reaching a hand toward him.

“No!” Dean shouted. “Stay the hell away from me.”

Cas put his hands up but didn’t back away, coming to sit next to Dean on the bed. “I’m sorry.” He said earnestly, face looking softer than he’d ever seen it before. A hand reached out to cup Dean’s face and, even though he really wanted to, he resisted the urge to lean into the touch. Cas rubbed his thumb comfortingly against his cheek. “I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye.”

“Why are you here, Cas.” He asked, refusing to meet the other man’s gaze.

“I missed you.” He said with a hopeful smile that Dean didn’t return. Sighing, he added, “And I needed a favor.”

Dean huffed a bitter laugh, shaking free of Castiel’s hand. “Of course you did. What do you want?”

There was a long moment of silence before Cas finally spoke again. “I need you to get something for me.”

“You want me to steal for you?” Dean looked at him now, angry and confused. “Boy, you must really think I’m desperate.”

“I don’t think you’re desperate.” He tilted his head again, brows pulled together in concentration as though trying to unravel some complicated mystery.

“Then why the hell—”

“It’s in your evidence lock up.” He said plainly.

Dean couldn’t believe he asking for him to screw over his coworkers, his friends. “Oh, no. No way am gonna steal form the station for you.” 

Cas smirked, “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch—.”

“Don’t even think about trying that again.” He snapped, face flushing slightly as his mind brought him back to the interrogation room, to the sound of Cas moaning above him, to the raw feel of his lips after sucking his cock.

“Oh come on, Dean. Lighten up. I’m willing to make a deal.”

“You’ll turn yourself in?”

Cas smiled, humming a bit to himself. “Nope. But I’ll give you something better.”

“What?” Dean asked, curious despite himself.

“More like who.” His grin was cocky again and he leaned in to whisper. “Do this one small favour for me and I’ll give you Alastair.”

Dean’s eyes went wide, mouth hanging open as he pulled back far enough to look Castiel in the eye. Alastair was one of the most notorious serial killers in all of Kansas. No one had ever come close enough to catch the guy, his pattern of victims too random and varied. “Interested?” Cas asked, feigning innocence.

“No way I’d trust you.” 

“Tell you what, Dean. I’m a generous man, so I’ll even show you mine first.” 

“You’re just going to give me Alastair? How do you know I won’t try to screw you over?”

“You won’t.” He smiled perversely. “Do we have a deal?”

“We.” He paused. “We have a deal,” he heard himself saying, “when I have Alastair in custody.”

“Great.” Cas practically sang, leaning even closer to Dean. “Now that business is out of the way.” He ran his hands up Dean’s thighs then gently pressed them apart. He didn’t apply enough pressure to actually move his legs without Dean’s consent and he realized that Cas was giving him choice, asking permission. He let them fall open, revealing the pink silk of the panties. He heard Castiel’s breath hitch and watched as the man ran a hand across Dean’s now soft cock, almost in awe.

“These ones were my favourite too.” He spoke softly, mostly to himself, hand still gently rubbing Dean’s dick. He was starting to get hard again and was thinking about pulling away when Cas said, “It would be too bad if I left with you still mad about last time.” Voice husky and low, “Think I should try to earn your forgiveness.” His fingers pressed harder against Dean’s cock, making him shiver. “What do you think? Would you like that, baby?” 

A whimper caught in his throat and he found himself nodding. “Yeah? You want me to do something for you, to make you feel good?” He was leaning in closer to Dean, gently pushing him back and climbing overtop of him until they pressed completely together, mouths inches from each other. “What do you want, gorgeous. Tell me what you need.”

“Kiss me, tell me I’m good.” The words came out barely louder than a whisper, eyes looking down in shame. There was only a split second before Cas bent down to captured his lips in a fierce kiss, one that made Dean moan and gasp and press his body into the firm line of muscle above him. 

“So good.” Cas panted between kisses. “You’re so beautiful, Dean.” He peppered kisses all along his jawline muttering, “Drive me crazy,” as he continued down Dean’s neck, grazing his collarbone with his teeth. “Thought about you all the time.” His tongue licked out and traced each one of his nipples before moving down his stomach. “Wish you could see yourself, see how perfect you are like this.” Cas bit the inside of Dean’s thigh and then suddenly stopped, mischievous smile curling at the corner of his lips. 

“What?” Dean’s voice was rough, cock hard and straining again, the new stimulation mixing with his earlier arousal making it almost painful to be so far form Cas’ mouth.

“Want you to kneel on the floor in front of the mirror.” Cas growled into his open, swollen mouth, kissing him desperately before sitting up enough to let Dean move. 

He got up uncertainly and walked over to the full-length mirror at the other end of the bedroom, sinking to his knees in front of it. Reflected in the glass was his own flushed face, spit slicked lips shining, small bruises around his torso where Cas had nipped and sucked at the skin. Eyes raked down until they finally landed on the panties. The image made him groan and he shifted around, letting the fabric slide against him.

Cas came into view behind him, naked now, hands falling to his shoulders massaging them while they both stared at Dean in the mirror. “So gorgeous,” he breathed. “You like it too, don’t you? Like being my pretty little boy, huh?” Dean nodded, rocking his hips forward to get a bit more friction. Cas kneeled down behind him and wrapped his around, one playing with his nipples—pinching them until they were tight and hard—while the other started stroking his cock through the material. Dean felt his jaw go slack. He closed his eyes, dropping his head back against Castiel.

“Want you to watch yourself, baby.” He breathed the words into Dean’s skin, giving him goosebumps. “Want you to see how pretty you look like this,” he sucked on Dean’s earlobe, “all flushed and wanting.” He opened his eyes and stared at his reflection. He thought this would make him feel embarrassed but it didn’t, it just turned him on even more. Cas was jerking him off slowly but he could see the stain from the precome steadily growing.

His eyes moved to Cas, and he could see that the other man was just as turned on—eyes black, cheeks a pretty pink, and those big full lips parted and shining. He could feel Castiel’s breath panting against him, could hear the quiet groans he was making under his breath. 

The sensations were too much, almost unbearably good after being so desperate all day. The way Cas’ fingers moved expertly up and down his shaft, the way the silk of the panty dragged along with his hand, his debauched reflection. He couldn’t take it. With a shout of Cas he came, filling the underwear with his come, groaning at the way the warm liquid covered his cock.

“That’s a good boy.” Feeling slightly boneless he slumped forward, and Cas had to steady him to keep him from falling. “Easy, baby. I’m not done with you, yet.” Holding Dean upright with one hand, he pushed the other into the wet panties and wrapped his hand around his oversensitive cock. “Want you to watch yourself taking my cock,” He breathed, fisting Dean until he started to harden again. “Going to watch yourself come untouched. Want you to see how hot you look, gorgeous.”

Cas eased him onto his elbows, taking a minute to run his blunt nails down Dean’s sweaty back. In the mirror he could see the other man biting his lip, looking at him as like a dessert tray. Cas leaned down and kissed the top of his ass, right along the panty line, before reaching up to pull the underwear off. 

“Stop.” Dean croaked, their eyes meeting in the mirror. “Can you, w-want you to, to leave them on.” He was red with embarrassment again but Cas just made a wild, animalistic sound before sharply tugging the silk material to one side and exposing his hole. The cold air of the room set his skin on edge and he clenched involuntarily, a sight that only seemed to make the other man crazy. 

The next thing Dean knew, Cas was holding his waist steady and laving his tongue across the exposed rim of muscle. He gasped and thrust backwards, trying to force himself onto Castiel’s face. It had been so long since they’d done this and the feeling of his own fingers had done nothing to alleviate the need he’d felt. This was perfect, incredible. The slick feeling of a tongue lapping at his hole was one of the best sensations he’d ever felt. Better now without the bars of a cell to get in the way, now that Dean could feel Cas’ from the base of his tongue to the tip. Now that he could feel the other man suck on the tight pucker, gently nip at the skin. 

After a few minutes, Dean was fucking himself desperately on Cas’ tongue, not caring how loud or slutty he sounded. In the mirror he could see how utterly wrecked he looked and he liked it, liked looking and what he saw. Through the reflection he could see that Cas was looking too, watching as his tongue thrust in and out of his body. When he pulled away, Dean could see a fine trail of saliva leading from Castiel’s pink lips to his ass, while more dribbled down his chin. 

“Cas.” He groaned, watching the two of them in the mirror. 

“You like this don’t you? Like the way you look when I eat you out, huh, baby?” 

“Y-yes.” Their eyes were locked in the mirror, as Cas reached around to the front of the panties and coated his fingers with the cooling come. Dean sucked in a breath, knowing what was about to happen, whole body thrumming with anticipation. 

“I don’t blame you,” He said as two fingers pushed right into Dean’s body. He let out a breath like he’d been punched, moaning and rocking back on the digits. “You take it so well, like you were made for it.” Cas started scissoring him open roughly and he could tell that the other man was just as desperate as he was. One thing he’d learned about Cas was that he liked to take his time feeling Dean’s body, opening him up until he was a crying mess. Secretly Dean wondered if Cas got off making his partners feel good, like he’d rather make someone else come then finish himself.

“Were you made to be fucked, Dean? Were you born to please other men?” 

“Y-you.” He stuttered out, “Made to plea-ease you, C—ah—as.” Cas groaned, shoving a third finger in without any warning. 

“That right, baby? You were made for me?” Dean nodded, he could see how much more desperate that made Castiel, he could practically feel how hard the other man was. He pulled his hand out of Dean’s hole to reach around for the rest of the cold come in the panties. He bucked forward, hoping for Cas to touch him but his hand was pulled away too fast.

In seconds, Cas had slicked himself with up with a mix of Dean’s come and his own precome. In the mirror they were both watching each other. Castiel was panting, thick cock pulsing hot and heavy in his hand as he pressed against the loose ring of muscle. 

When the head of his cock was completely inside they both let out almost pained moans. Cas kept pushing until he slammed himself fully inside of Dean. Neither one of them moved, just panting together. Dean clenched tightly around the other man’s girth and they both luxuriated in the feeling. He was so full and, he realized, for the first time in months he didn’t feel empty, Cas filling that ache perfectly. 

Then he started moving, picking up a punishing pace that had them both gasping. Every thrust rammed against his prostate, moving the panties across his throbbing dick. His knees stung from the carpet as he was pounded so hard it pushed him closer and closer to the mirror. Cas leaned forward to growl, “Mine,” biting into his neck so hard it very nearly drew blood.

Dean panted, “Yours, Cas, yours!” feeling his orgasm building. His legs trembled violently with pleasure, his body wrecked and pliant.

“Fuck, baby!” Cas shouted as Dean started clenching down in time to every thrust. “Fuck, want you to come, want you to come for me.” That was all it took to have Dean crying out, spilling into his panties, soaking them completely. Cas fucked him through his orgasm, looking so gone he looked almost possessed. 

“You’re mine.” He thrust harder, faster. “Belong to me. No one else can have you. Do whatever I want to you.” He snarled, hands gripping so tightly at Dean’s waist that the fingerprints would be there for days. Finally he came, growling “Mine, Mine, Mine!” into Dean’s back.

They collapsed forward on the ground, completely drained and stayed like that for what felt like hours. Dean was almost asleep when he felt Cas stir and watched him silently as the other man padded toward the washroom. He came back a minute later with a warm cloth and, instead of throwing it at Dean, this time he carefully removed the soiled panties and gently wiped him clean. 

“Thank you.” Dean said weakly.

Cas smirked, “For cleaning you or fucking you?”

“Both.” He hummed, and closed his eyes. Cas tossed the cloth on the ground and scooped Dean up in his arms, carrying back to the bed. Curling up against Castiel’s chest, Dean felt safe and happy and complete in a way that was impossible to explain. He nuzzled into the warm heat of the other man, getting comfortable.

Laughing under his breath, Cas asked, “Happy I came by?”

Without a second of hesitation Dean responded, “Yes.” And then a moment later added quietly, “Don’t leave. Tonight. Don’t leave before I wake up.”

There was a long silence where Dean worried he’d ruined the moment, where he wondered if Cas was going to toss him away and laughed at how pathetic he was. But then Cas said, “I’ll be here,” and tightened his arms around Dean. It was probably just his imagination but he could have sworn he felt Cas kiss the top of his head as he murmured, “In the morning. I’ll be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the comments, they really mean a lot to me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's really good of you, baby," he purred, "thinking about my needs like that.” He took a step closer, crowding in as close as he could without their bodies touching. “You deserve a reward for being so good. What would like, Dean?" He said, thinking: please ask me to kiss you, please ask me to kiss you, please ask me to kiss you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to post, so to make it up to you I tried to write a long chapter. Unfortunately, the next chapter will probably also take a little more than a week because of exams!
> 
> Also, this is Cas' POV and probably it will go back and forth a bit now. Though mostly still from Dean's POV, I think.

Somewhere in the distance there were a series of small, quiet sounds that seemed at once irritating and oddly comforting. It was as though someone were moving around the house, trying their best to ghost across the floors with the hope not to wake any other inhabitants. Only there were no other inhabitants, he lived alone. Castiel blinked open his eyes and stared up at a vaguely familiar ceiling. 

Everything was wrong. He sat up and scanned the room sleepily, noting the strange colors and smells and sounds, the way the dim light cast a different set of shadows across a differently furnished room. It was warmer here, more comfortable and lived in than his own austere home. 

Slowly and in a sleepy fog, visions of the night before came trickling to the forefront of his mind. Dean, he sighed, falling back into the cozy bed with the overly fluffy pillows. This was Dean’s apartment with its practical furniture and almost decadently soft upholstery. He bit back a smile, burying his face into sheets that smelled like clean and sleep and Dean.

Castiel stretched, spreading his body across the small bed and listening to the pop of muscles stiff from sleeping at an awkward angle. From down the hall there were sounds of the tap running followed by a bubbling popping sound he couldn’t quite identify. He was half hard and wondered idly whether he could get a blowjob. It was highly likely that he could but he decided to forgo asking for Dean’s sake. Judging by the orderly state of the apartment, it was a pretty safe bet the man was big on punctuality too. 

Sighing, he rolled out of bed and, not wanting to provide any unnecessary temptation for either of them, slipped on a pair of underwear before wandering toward the kitchen. Immediately, he was greeted by a smooth curved back covered in a spattering of freckles that made the muscles look softer, kinder than they would have otherwise. There was only the slightest bit of disappointment upon noticing that Dean was clothed from waste down.

“Hello, Dean.” He greeted, forcing all the emotion from his voice—worried that maybe in the light of day his pretty would regret all the fun they had the night before. Curious as to the source of the sounds, Castiel peered over his shoulder, careful to keep their bodies from touching until he had a better read on the other man’s mood. 

On the stove a kettle popped and clicked as it boiled. A minute later the whistling started and he watched as Dean filled a percolator with the water. 

"You made coffee," He observed, casually.

Dean turned and smiled nervously, like he wasn’t sure whether he’d done the right thing. "I, I thought you might want some." His voice was barely louder than a whisper and shakier than Castiel would have preferred. The idea that his baby actually feared his reaction to such a small gesture made his stomach twist in a new and unpleasant way. 

Wanting to quell the other man’s unease, he poured his focus into appearing as favorable as possible. "That's really good of you, baby," he purred, "thinking about my needs like that.” He took a step closer, crowding in as close as he could without their bodies touching. “You deserve a reward for being so good. What would like, Dean?" He said, thinking: please ask me to kiss you, please ask me to kiss you, please ask me to kiss you. 

Dean swallowed, looking embarrassed as he spoke. "K-kiss me?" 

Castiel had to stop himself from just leaning forward and claiming those perfect pink lips. Lips made for kissing, or cock sucking—the thought made him smile devilishly and he silently thanked whatever forces had conspired bring him this treasure of a man. 

"I don't know if you've earned something like that." He sighed, feigning disinterest and watching as Dean’s face fell. The sight made his heart beat faster with excitement, anticipation. It was beautiful the way those features became so dark and sad in an instant, a deep shame flushing the cheeks a pretty red. Even more beautiful was the way his expression would light up, turning grateful and needy when Castiel finally succumbed to his request. "I'll taste the coffee first, then decide." 

Carefully, though, with visibly trembling fingers, Dean lifted the percolator and poured the brown liquid into a mug. Then, without even having to be asked, he steadied his hand and lifted the cup to Castiel’s lips. He took a small sip, swishing the liquid around dramatically in his mouth. "You used my coffee." It came out sounding surprised because he truly hadn’t expected that, figuring the man had thrown the gift away upon realizing the sender.

"Y-yeah." Dean stuttered, looking unsure.

He hummed appreciation as he swallowed, eyes turning to stare directly into the worried green ones in front of him. "The beans are stale.” He said matter-of-factly, setting the mug back down on the counter. “But I appreciate the effort. You may have one kiss." 

As expected, Dean's face instantly lit up, the result so cute he had to hide a smile in the crook of that beautiful neck. To excuse the strange action he whispered, “Make it count,” as sternly as possible considering the giddy feeling bubbling up through his body. When he pulled back enough so that they were facing each other, Dean reached up a hand to gently cup Castiel’s jaw. 

Huh, he thought, that was new. The other man had never been so bold with his touches, always too scared to act without permission. He liked this side of Dean. It was never a question that he was a brave, capable man, but he’d yet to let much of that come through into their arrangement. This was nice, though, and Castiel found himself leaning into the touch, wanting to encourage this new boldness. 

Taking it as the sign of encouragement that it was, Dean lean forward and pressed their lips together in this slow, tender kiss. Castiel parted his lips for the other man and moaned slightly when their tongues finally slid together. It was an easy kiss, more exploratory than anything that had happened before. Clearly, Dean wanted to learn how to please him, how he liked to be kissed, to be touched. No one had ever tried to do this; no one had ever cared enough to bother. 

They kissed for a long time, just as slow but increasingly passionate. Dean's hands ran all over his body—down his chest, sides, back, neck, tangling in his hair. For his part he’d planted hands on either side of Dean on the counter, wanting to make it clear that the other man could touch freely and unimpeded. Eventually he leaned forward, pressing their erection together and lazily rolling his hips. When he heard a sound catch in dean's throat, he pulled back, breaking the kiss. 

Panting, Castiel pressed their foreheads together, watching the way the gesture brought about the most breathtaking smile he’d ever seen. A moment later Dean’s eyes fluttered shut, smile still firmly in place. It made him feel happy, to stand this way, like a warm weight was curling itself around his heart. Without really thinking, he moved his arms from the counter and wrapped them around Dean in an affectionate gesture that seemed to surprise both of them. 

"I'm glad you stayed." Dean whispered into the small space between them, eyes open but looking down. 

Suddenly, Castiel felt uncomfortable. This was too much; it felt like Dean had weaseled his way into some part of him where no one was allowed. He wanted to put distance between them, even as his body refused to let go. Finally, he managed to detach himself and turned toward the table. 

He felt nervous and vulnerable so he plastered on the cockiest smirk possible and tried to turn the conversation into something light, easy. "I reward all my good boys." He said offhandedly, dropping onto a chair at the table. When he looked back, Dean was frowning, eyes distant and sad. Castiel was surprised. He hadn’t even said anything horrible or demoralizing. He wanted to ask him what was wrong but knew that he couldn't so instead he became frustrated, angry with Dean. Who said he could be sad? Who gave him permission to stop smiling?

Castiel was overcome with the desire to punish the other man, making him regret this unwarranted sadness. So he spread his legs wide, pulling his cock out and stroking himself back to full hardness. Dean looked confused, surprised, opening and closing his mouth a few times. “Get on your knees and suck me.” He growled out so harshly that Dean looked almost scared. Serves him right, he thought even as a part of him felt guilty and miserable for being the cause of fear.

“Cas,” The man sounded worried. “I-I can’t. I have, I have to be at work in twenty min-nutes.” Even as he protested, though, he was moving closer, dropping to the floor between Castiel’s thighs.

“I won’t tell you again, Dean.” He hissed, wondering if maybe this was going too far. There was a roiling feeling in his gut, not wanting to actually force Dean to do something he didn’t actually want to do. He was about to offer some kind of out when the other man whimpered, a hand falling down to palm himself through his slacks. “You want this, don’t you?” Castiel breathed, leaning forward to rub the head of his dick against Dean’s lips. “Practically hungry for my cock.”

Thankfully, the man nodded, eyes dark with his own arousal and lips parting eagerly. It was consent enough and Castiel grabbed a fistful of Dean’s hair with his free hand, pulling him onto his length so that those beautiful swollen lips were spread tightly around him. This was almost better than the first time just by virtue of having full use of his hands, being able to grab and push and hold Dean.

“That’s it, just like that baby.” He gasped, feeling his anger subside as Dean slid up and down, alternating between using the tip and flat of his tongue on the underside of Castiel’s cock. “Suck, baby, suck,” he whispered and immediately felt the man’s mouth become a vacuum, the sensation making him moan and jerk his hips. 

The clock on the wall read 6:45, so he figured if they could finish this up in about five minutes Dean would still have enough time to get work without being too late. In an effort to finish as fast as possible, he grabbed the sides of the other man’s face and started fucking him in earnest. The head of his cock slammed into Dean’s throat again and again, making him choke and sputter. 

When he reached a hand down to touch his own cock, Castiel kicked it away. “No.” He breathed harshly, barely able to think he was so close to finishing. His orgasm felt like it was being ripped from his body, sucked out by perfect lips and a wicked tongue. Dean had gotten so much better since the last time and it made him wonder whether he’d found someone else to practice on. The thought made that same terrifyingly possessive feeling wash over him as it had when he was fucking Dean last night.

“Mine,” he growled, “You belong to me, no one else can touch you.” His thrusts had lost any semblance of rhythm as that tight white-hot feeling built up the pressure in his body. “No one else can—ah—can use your mouth. D-Dean!” He shouted, slamming into Dean one more time and coming right down his throat. Castiel held him like that until he was completely spent, amazed that Dean had continued gently sucking, milking him for that he was worth.

It was 6:51, so he pushed Dean’s face off his softening cock. “Go get your shirt on, baby, or you’ll be late.” He said, sparing a second to wipe the tears from the other man’s face.

“B-but, Cas,” Dean whined, looking at his own neglected erection.

“No.” Castiel said simply. “You’re not going to touch yourself today.” 

Dean looked like he might cry, the image sending that weird giddiness from earlier spiking through his body again. “If you’re good and you don’t touch,” He said, running a hand through soft hair brown hair, “I’ll give you something really good when you get home.”

“You’re coming back tonight?” 

“Of course. You don’t have Alastair and I don’t have what I need from your evidence lock up—our business isn’t done.” Again an irritatingly sad look crossed Dean’s face but it was quickly smothered in a wash of excitement.

“I can be home by seven,” He offered hopefully.

Castiel smiled, “That’s perfect baby, now go get your shirt.”

It was so strange how the other man reacted to things—seemingly much more excited by the prospect of Castiel’s continued presence than the potential for reward. Maybe he hadn’t made it clear that the reward would involve some form of sexual gratification? Or maybe he thought anything sexual would be too focused on Castiel’s pleasure and so not a satisfying reward? He considered this, wondering if he’d been too selfish with Dean. Perhaps, he thought, I should do something just for him.

He was so lost thinking of all the ways to please Dean that it took him a minute to realize that the man was standing in front of him, dressed sharply in a sleek black suit. Castiel admired him for a moment, before walking him toward the door. An unreadable expressed passed through green eyes, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly as he spoke, “Um, well, I guess, I’ll see you later then.”

“Yes. Goodbye, Dean.” 

The peculiar expression deepened before he darted his eyes toward the floor. “See ya’, Cas.” He sighed, ducking out the front door.

As he watched Dean disappear down the hall, he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. It wasn’t particularly surprising that there had been no kiss goodbye, but it would be a lie to say that he hadn’t hoped for one. After the stunt he just pulled, he was surprised the other man was even letting him come back tonight. 

There was a painful sense of guilt swirling around inside him but, resolving to remedy the situation later, he tried his best to push all thoughts of Dean completely out of his mind. It was nearly seven and there was work to be done, it was time to focus. He walked toward the phone, dreading the conversation to come.

It only rang twice before the call was picked up. 

“All night, Cassie?” Came the crackly greeting.

“Gabriel. Please do not call me that.” He replied evenly.

“It took you the whole night to make a deal with the cop?” 

“We were hashing out the details.”

“Yeah,” He said as lewdly as possible, “I’m sure you hashed them out again and again and a—”

“Gabriel.” 

“How does that saying go, little brother? He must have been ‘working like a dog’? Or, wait, is it ‘like a dog in heat’?” Through the phone, he could hear the distinct sound of giggling. 

“Gab—”

“Well, doesn’t matter.” He said, cutting off Castiel’s objection. “I’m sure you worked that little bitch of yours all ni—”

“Gabriel!” He shouted, irritably. “I did not call so that you could insult me.”

“Lighten up, Cassie! I’m only teasing you. I’m happy you’re screwing detective sexy,” He paused, “I mean, Balthazar owes me like twenty bucks because you were too busy to come by last night.” Gabriel practically sung the words he was so pleased with himself.

Castiel closed his eyes, trying not reign in all unnecessary emotions. Knowing Gabriel, any emotional response would only prolong the teasing. He took a deep, steadying breath before pushing forward. “He agreed to the terms, Alastair for the gun. He wants the man first, though.”

“Really? Couldn’t convince him to show you his, first? Even with all the negotiating you did last night?”

“No, he was firm—” Castiel froze, knowing he’d picked the wrong word and not even bothering to finish the sentence.

“I bet he was!” Gabriel laughed for two minutes straight, his breathy gasps audible through the phone connection. 

Castiel felt his face heat up with embarrassment. “You know what I mean, Gabe.” 

“I don’t know if I do, Cassie. Want to tell me more about his firmness? I know how you appreciate a man’s big, throbbing, firm—”

“Be serious, please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We have limited time to secure Alastair, and I need to make an appearance before Michael this afternoon.”

“Yikes. You don’t think he knows, do you?” Gabriel asked, suddenly very serious and very nervous.

“No.” He tried to sound as confident as possible, though really he was probably more anxious than anyone. “I think he wants a job done, that’s all.”

“Is it safe to go after Alastair when you’re about to meet with the big boss man?”

“It’ll be fine. Like I said, we have limited time. We don’t have the luxury to wait around another week.”

“Alright, when should we expect you?”

“It’ll take me an hour to get everything together. Tell Balthazar to find Meg, she’s our in.”

“Alright, commander, I’ll rally the troops!”

“Gabriel, please.” He said, exasperated. 

“Oh, Cassie?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget to kiss detective sexy goodbye before you leave—”

The phone cut out before he could say anything else. Castiel sighed, slumping onto the couch and wishing desperately for the day to be over already. The meeting with Michael was most unsettling. If he’d somehow figured out what they were doing—this would be it, he’d die today and nothing would change, everything would have been a waste. 

Worse, he thought, Dean wouldn’t know what happened and assume he’d just been abandoned. A terrible image of Dean coming home to an empty apartment, waiting eagerly at the table until he was too tired to stay awake, kept flashing behind his eyes. Fretting, endlessly wondering what he’d done wrong, pinning after a dead man he thought had left him—the image was almost worse than the idea of dying itself. 

Which was a strange feeling. He’d never had someone who cared that much about his life, had never felt obligated to stay alive for someone else’s benefit. He closed his eyes and silently hoped that everything would go smoothly, made a promise to God that if he survived today he’d make an effort to more considerate of Dean’s feelings. It made him want to laugh, thinking how different he felt. Like he was a new person here, more relaxed, more thoughtful. If Gabriel could hear his thoughts, he rolled his eyes and smiled, making his way to the bathroom for a shower.

This room was, without a doubt, the nicest part of the entire apartment. The tub was big—certainly big enough for two grown men—and the cupboards were stocked full of any and all luxurious bath products. There were a variety of different soaps, gels, shampoos, a brand of women’s conditioner that he knew for a fact Dean used on his own hair. Soft cloths and fluffy towels stacked to one side, moisturizers and shaving cream on the other. He smiled, Dean certainly seemed to enjoy his creature comforts. 

It occurred to him then that fluffy towels might be one of the only indulgences the man allowed himself. In the years before meeting, when they’d scrambled to learn the details of each other’s lives, he’d never known Dean’s relationships to last more than the night. Considering how touch starved he seemed, Castiel wondered how long it had been since he’d known genuine affection—a comforting touch that extended beyond the warm towels and sheets he surround himself with.

The thought made him sad and he tried to will the strange mood away. It was important to get his head in order before meeting with Meg or Michael. One slip could mean any number of causalities. This wasn’t the time or the place to be concerned about Dean Winchester. This New Castiel had to be left behind upon leaving the apartment. Here compassion was welcome and here, he decided, it would stay. 

Balthazar was waiting outside by the time he’d finished getting ready, idling in Castiel’s 1946 tan Lincoln Continental. 

“I can’t believe you drive this.” He called, sliding over to the passenger’s seat. 

“I like it.” Castiel said, shrugging into the car and happily running a hand around the wheel.

“You’re bloody ridiculous.” 

They drove in silence for a few minutes, taking the familiar route to Cherry’s and settling into an easy silence. “Does Meg know we’re coming?”

“Nah,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Tried calling a dozen times but the girl wouldn’t answer. So we’re stuck going in cold.”

“She’s not going to be happy with us just showing up unannounced, Balth.”

“She’ll be happy that you showed up at all. Word is she’s been asking around about you, Cassie.”

“I imagine so. We had an arrangement but lately I’ve been,” he paused, searching for words, “otherwise engaged.”

“Don’t worry, Gabriel told me all about your engagements. I’ve heard a lot about firmness, Cassie, but have you considered the benefits of tightness?”

The glare he turned on Balthazar more than made up for the embarrassed pink flush of his cheeks. “Be careful.” He warned, voice icy. “Gabriel is my brother but you are not.”

For a second, Balthazar seemed to forget himself, mouthing opening around a response before quickly snapping shut. Everyone knew that Castiel wasn’t amenable to jokes, particularly ones at his expense. Balthazar shrunk away form him, pointedly looking out the window. The car returned to silence for the rest of the drive, though it was considerably less comfortable. 

Castiel parked around back in the small alley outside the club before pushing his way inside. The main room was small, dark, smoky, and filled with a number of comfortable chairs. There was a large bar and a small stage for the girls to dance. Thankfully the place was empty, most of the girls probably sleeping or off working their day jobs.

They wove through the maze of chairs and tables, heading toward the slender woman bent over the bar. She had long, curly black hair and was wearing nothing but a pair of dark red underwear and matching bra.

As they approached, she turned, smiling enormously as her eyes raked over Castiel’s body. “Hey there, Clarence.” She drawled, leaning back against the bar and stretching her arms out, showing off her body.

“Meg.” He greeted, nodding curtly.

She hummed, taking her full bottom lip between her teeth. “Gotta say, Clarence, I’ve missed you. You’ve been neglecting me.” She sauntered over to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. 

Normally, this would be enough to make him want her—Meg was, after all, both attractive and easy, two qualities he very much enjoyed—but today was different, he wasn’t interested. “I’m here or information, nothing more.”

“Oh, it makes me tingly when you’re all business like this.” She said, rolling her hips and sliding a hand down to cup his groin.

He gently removed her hand from his body, taking a step back before regarding her sternly. “I need to know when Alastair will be arriving and who has business with him.”

“Come on, Clarence!” She whined. “Don’t you want to play a bit first?”

He was about to speak when Balthazar clapped him on the back. “Afraid you’re out of luck, love. Cassie’s got himself a new play thing.”

“Balthazar, this is hardly the appropriate time.”

“So that’s where you’ve been the past while? All tangled up in some sweet, pretty little girl while I’m stuck here all alone? I’m hurt, Clarence, really.”

“Meg—”

“A pretty little boy, according to the rumor mill.”

“A boy!” She practically squealed, linking their arms together. “Tell me all about him, Angel. Does he get wet like a girl, beg for it like a whore? Oh! Does he like to share, because I’m perfectly happy to have a three—”

“Both of you stop, I’m tired of having this conversation. Meg, tell me about Alastair now.”

“Jeez, Clarence. I’m just having a bit of fun.”

“I don’t have time for this. Tell me or I leave.”

“Fine, fine.” She yawned, “Look. I don’t know much—his boys haven’t said anything. Something big is going down tonight. The boys are gathering after hours, so his scariness will be here in the flesh. That’s everything.”

“That’s it?”

She shrugged, and he glared in response. “Hey!” Her hands came up in mock defense, “I’m risking my pretty little behind for you, Clarence, and I’m not even getting a threesome out of it.”

“Fine,” he huffed, “I need another favor.”

“What?”

“Anna. I want her dancing tonight.”

“Done.”

“Make sure Alastair sees her.”

“So bossy. I’m dewy, baby, really.” She called as they made there way back outside.

Back in the car Castiel started driving toward Gabriel’s, which had become something like their headquarters over the past few months. Most of them even slept there now, in the large basement that resembled a sort of barracks for soldiers. It was intolerable and he had refused to spend more than a night there up until the arrest. Now it was starting to feel almost more like home than his house. “I need you to brief Anna. We need her to lure him out, somewhere secluded.”

“Factory district?” Balthazar offered.

“I suppose. We’ll need to have cars waiting, form a blockade. He won’t come willingly once he realizes where they’re headed.”

“He doesn’t know her loyalties.”

“He knows enough, I can’t afford to take the risk. Have Gabriel and Inias tail her and call you immediately once they leave the club. We’ll get their first, great our friend properly.”

Balthazar smiled. “You don’t want to let anyone else in on the action?”

“I don’t know who we can trust right now. The fewer people involved, the safer we’ll be.”

“Got it, commander.” He winked and Castiel rolled his eyes as he pulled up in front of the house. “Coming in?”

“Michael.”

“Oh,” A look of worry crossed the other man’s face. “Be careful,” he said, stepping out of the car and walking around to the driver’s side.

“Always.” Castiel said, grimacing slightly. “Balth. Tell them to call the lobby of Dean’s building, when it’s time.”

“Why?” He asked, confused.

“You’ll be there, waiting for it. You’ll retrieve me when it’s time.”

Balthazar gaped down at him. “I’m supposed to sit there half the night waiting for them to call? And where will you be?” He demanded, clearly irritated.

“I suppose I’ll be otherwise engaged,” Castiel grinned mischievously, “evaluating the benefits of tightness.” 

Balthazar looked shocked for a moment before bursting out laughing, “You always do get even, huh, Cassie?”

“Until later, my friend.” Castiel chuckled, as he pulled out of the driveway and headed back down the highway toward Michael’s. 

The house was large and old, sitting just on the edge of town. Michael was definitely one for theatrics and the aesthetics of the house more than lived up to his personality. It even looked about as polished and sinister as the man himself. Windows like gleaming eyes, the play of archway and shadow making it seem almost permanently smug. Not even the perfectly maintained flowerbeds or kindly stone pathway could alter the sinister countenance of the house, or the man. 

Castiel grimaced as he pulled into the large driveway, allowing himself a moment of composure before following the path up to the main entrance. The door was large and ornate and he couldn’t help rolling his eyes every time his fingers wrapped around the pretentious brass knocker. Barely a second passed before the door was creaking open to reveal Uriel’s solemn face, glaring out at him.

“Castiel.” Uriel nodded unhappily.

“Uriel. It has been far too long.” He said, stepping through the door quickly in hopes of bypassing the unpleasant interaction.

“It has been months without word—we were starting to wonder where your loyalties lie. Questioning whether it really is the police you’re spending so much time and energy hiding from.” His voice was more irritated than angry, and Castiel felt the relief wash through him. If Michael knew what they’d been planning, Uriel wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself. The man reveled in every one of his failures; there was no way this betrayal would go without comment.

“I am not hiding from you. I’ve kept quiet and now that I am needed, I have made my presence known. Michael understands this.” 

“I suppose we should hope that he does.” Uriel grinned, motioning for Castiel to follow him back through the house. 

Michael only ever discussed business in the drawing room so the fact that he was being lead to the kitchen set him on edge again. It was around three in the afternoon but the house was dark enough inside to warrant the electric lights, making everything feel more claustrophobic and worrisome. He tried his best to swallow the uneasiness, to school his features until they were hard and menacing. Michael responded to power, and this is what Castiel had to portray if he was going to convince them all that everything was fine.

Inside the kitchen, servers and chefs bustled about preparing the evening meal. Michael stood with his back to the doorway, head bowed over a large pot boiling beside an anxious looking cook. 

“I think maybe a bit more salt. Do you agree?” He asked and the cook nodded nervously. “Castiel,” he spoke without turning, “come, I want you to taste this.”

Castiel walked quietly from Uriel’s side to where the dark haired man stood, offering a ladle. He briefly considered the likelihood that it was poisoned before pursing his lips and slurping the liquid. Michael’s blue eyes watched him carefully, thoughtfully, as Castiel considered the soup. “Anymore more salt and you’ll ruin it. Let it cook down, Michael.”

There was a brief moment where Michael continued staring, face blank and cold, while the whole kitchen stopped mid motion. They were made afraid by Castiel’s defiance, but he knew better. Power and strength, those were the qualities the man most admired and they were the reason Castiel had gained so much influence within the house. 

He watched as Michael’s face crinkled up into a fond smile. “Yes,” he said, turning back to the cook. “Yes, I believe our friend here is correct. All good things require patience, and so I shall try very much to exercise my own.” The cook nodded slowly, like he didn’t understand exactly what had happened. Michael clasped him on the shoulders, looking him up and down as though it had been years since they were last standing here. “Castiel! I’m so pleased you’re here. Come, we have much to discuss.”

With his hand on Castiel’s shoulders Michael led them out of the kitchen, past Uriel’s scowling face, and toward the drawing room. “I was starting to fear that you’d left me for good.” He said, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief.

“I only kept my distance for the good of the family.”

“Yes, yes. Though I do wish you’d have written. After that frightful business with the police, well, we were all quite worried. Were we not, Uriel?” There was an answering grunt from somewhere behind them but Castiel didn’t turn, smiling slightly at the other man’s discontentment. 

“Apologies. I am here now.”

“Of course you are, come, sit and let us talk. Drink?” He accepted, noting with pleasure that Uriel was not offered anything. 

As it turned out, Michael was mostly interested in catching up. They talked for a few hours about the arrest, business, and gossip. While on the surface it appeared pleasant, every minute only served to make him more nervous. Conversation was always a game with these people, with everyone in his life—well almost everyone, he thought and nearly blushed. It occurred to him then that talking to Dean didn’t feel that way at all, it was easy, even fun. Normally he was so silent but with Dean—

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, shall we discuss our business?” Michael’s voice cut through his thoughts and brought him back to full attention.

“Please,” Castiel gestured for him to continue.

“I require the use of your skills. I realize this is not an ideal time, considering your visibility, but it has become quite urgent and I would have no one other than you.”

“Who is the mark?”

“Robert Singer,” he said, walking toward the large oak desk near Uriel. Castiel felt strangely as though he’d heard the name before, but couldn’t place it. “I’ve prepared a briefing for you, of course. I expect it done within the week. I’ll have them transfer the funds upon completion of the task. Is this agreeable?” 

Castiel stood, accepting the small folder. “Of course.”

Michael beamed at him, clasping him on the back on more time as they headed back toward the main entrance. “I’m very glad we had this time to talk, Castiel. Please, don’t be a stranger. You know how much I enjoy our conversations.”

“I will try to make myself more available to you in the future.” They shook hands and he nodded curtly toward Uriel as he was leaving.

The minute Castiel got back into the car, he let out a long, exhausted sigh. His whole body was thrumming with the leftover adrenaline from what could have been, form all the terrible possibilities that had built up in his mind and body throughout the day. He drove swiftly and recklessly toward Dean’s apartment, imagining all the things he was going to do with the man when he got there. 

Much to his dismay, the apartment was dark and quiet when he got there—the clock in the kitchen said 7:01. He sighed, it wouldn’t be long before Dean was home and he could work out some tension. In the mean time, he poured himself a drink and wandered toward the couch. There was a picture frame on the side table he hadn’t noticed before. It a young looking boy with a diploma and graduation cap. The brother? he though, bring the frame closer to his face. Just then there was a rattling at the door. 

It took Dean a minute to get in and when he did, Castiel knew without looking that the man was surprised. He hadn’t expected me to actually be here, the thought made him feel that strange sad feeling and he refused to look up, afraid to betray his feelings. 

“Did you touch yourself?” He asked gruffly, coldly, still not looking up to meet Dean’s eyes. There was no reason to turn around anyway; he could feel the bright red blush creeping up the man’s cheeks from across the room. The image was just too sweet. He had to bite back a smile, his whole body consumed suddenly by a bubbling giddiness that pushed all other thoughts from his mind. 

“No, I, I wanted to but I didn’t. I swear.” Dean stuttered out a second later, each nervous word more exciting than the last.

“Good.” Castiel practically snapped and then slowly, so incredibly painstakingly slowly, he set down the picture frame and turned toward the door. His breath caught in his throat. Dean looked gorgeous; absolutely perfect standing there in his sharp suit looking worried and eager at the same time. There was tiredness there too, and something about how worn and stiff the man looked stirred something in him. He was overcome with a desire to be tender that seemed to possess him, propelling his body across the room in a few long strides until they were standing face to face. 

Staring at the tired, sweet man before him, he remembered the promise he made himself earlier to be kinder to Dean. “I guess you deserve something special,” he cooed softly, hands flitting under his suit jacket, sliding it off and tossing it over the nearest chair. Dean leaned forward, clearly hoping for a kiss, but Castiel just grabbed his wrist and walked them both toward the bedroom. 

The other man looked so excited by whatever was about to happen. Tiny tremors of nerves or maybe adrenaline wracked his body and Castiel delighted in the involuntary little movements, knowing that they were for him. They were his, like Dean was. 

It wasn’t right, though. This was Dean’s reward—it wasn’t about what Castiel wanted. The trembling had to stop, he wasn’t going to be stressed or worried tonight. Tonight Castiel was going to take care of him, press his adoration into Dean’s skin with kisses and touches. He started rubbing a soothing circle into the over-heated skin of the man’s wrist. “Sit on the bed, baby. Right at the edge.” He purred.

Castiel watched him obey instantly, sinking onto the soft mattress and blinking back up at him, confusion dotting his gaze. He needed to quell this man’s concerns, needed to push his exhaustion and worry away. So he stood between Dean’s spread legs and took his head in his hands, sweeping thumbs gently across his eyes, brows, down the slop of his nose, along the curve of his jaw. Dean sighed, letting Castiel’s nimble fingers trace his features.

After a minute he bent down and gently pressed their lips together. Dean’s eyelashes fluttered but he kept them closed, as though obeying some silent command to keep them that way. “Cas,” he breathed, hot and needy. The sound making Castiel’s chest feel tight, making him glad the other man’s eyes were closed. 

Slowly he started undoing the buttons of Dean’s shirt, letting each one thud back against him before moving on to the next. When the shirt was open he pushed it completely off, then let his fingers skirt across the man’s chest. Barely there touches, brushing against his nipples and stomach, trailing lower and lower until his hands landed on the cool metal of a belt. Castiel sunk to ground between his thighs and slid the leather form around Dean’s waist, setting it neatly beside him on the floor.

Dean opened his eyes then, and Castiel had to stop himself from sighing—the man was beautiful, all nervousness replaced with a warmth, a wanting. He ran his hands down Dean’s legs to his shoes, untying them with slow, exaggerated movements and then setting them beside the belt. He reached for the socks next but stopped and, instead of removing them, ran his fingers firmly along the sole, digging into the tightly knotted muscle. 

His fingers continued to move, working the knots and exhaustion out with firm, steady touches. Dean groan inadvertently above him and Castiel smiled lopsidedly, feeling a burst of warmth and affection run through him. This hadn’t been the plan, he hadn’t intended on touching Dean like this, it just happened. He was pretty sure he hadn’t touched anyone like this ever and wasn’t even sure why he started doing it now. It felt good to press firmly along the soles of the other man’s feet, to use his thumbs to make Dean whine. 

There was just something about doing this that made him feel good. It wasn’t sexual; he was getting absolutely no gratification from this other than the knowledge that these actions brought pleasure to Dean. After a while he set the foot he was working on down and switched to the other, applying a generous amount of pressure and pulling even more beautiful sounds out of Dean. 

This wasn’t meant to be his reward, but from the sounds being made above him, he was willing to reconsider. He watched the other man’s pleasure for a few more minutes before an idea struck him. “Dean,” he said tenderly, watching Dean blink blearily above him. He pulled off the socks and slid his pants and underwear down in one quick motion before speaking again. “I want you to lie on your stomach in the center of the bed, okay gorgeous?” 

Dean nodded dumbly and wiggled himself into position. Maybe, Castiel thought, if he enjoys it when I touch his feet, he’ll find similar touches across his back equally pleasing. He made quick work of his own clothes and then padded to the washroom for some lotion. When he got back he climbed up Dean’s body and settled himself just below that perfect ass, taking a moment to kiss the freckles spattered across his cheeks. 

Neither one of them spoke as he poured the moisturizer onto his hands; rubbing them briefly to warm it, before rubbing lightly across Dean’s broad back with his fingertips. He made a sound of appreciation and Castiel leaned forward to place a kiss to the soft hair at the back of his neck. It was comforting to know that the man couldn’t see him; he could let himself enjoy this too. Once everything was sufficiently slick, he sunk his hands into the firm muscle, working it until they relaxed. Slowly he felt the tension ease away into something softer and more pliable, luxuriating in every small, pleased sound Dean made as he came apart.

Castiel massaged his back until his fingers were sore, paying particular attention to the neck, tracing the curve of his spine, rubbing smooth circles across his lower back. It was surprising how much he was enjoying this—touching Dean, caressing his body with hands, fingers, forearm. It felt good to work down Dean’s arms, sides, and thighs, taking time, going slowly and carefully. 

An hour or so later, Dean’s eyes had drooped closed and his cheeks where Castiel could see were flushed and warm. He looked blissed out, the same expression on his face that he got right after an orgasm. The thought drew Castiel’s attention to his own half hard cock and he smiled, biting back a laugh of surprise.

“Turn over, baby,” he whispered into the skin of Dean’s boneless body. He obeyed, rolling over slowly to lie on his back. Castiel’s breathed hitched when he saw the other man—his cock hard and leaking against his stomach. Dean was obviously embarrassed, lifting a hand to cover himself that Castiel just batted away, smirking, “You like it when I touch your body, don’t you? Like it when I worship you?”

Dean’s eyes looked down, eyelashes fluttering against freckle covered cheeks. Castiel leaned down for a kiss, something slow and sweet—something he knew Dean would love. “So beautiful, Dean,” he said, leaning back to look him in the eyes, “meant for it, baby. Meant to submit to me, to let me take care of you.”

He sat up so that he was straddling the man just below his cock and leaned forward to kiss a trail down Dean’s chest, hands rubbing gentle circles as they followed his mouth lower. Castiel reached across the bed for the lotion, using it to slick up his fingers and then wrap his hand around Dean’s pink, swollen cock. The pace he set was slow, too slow to make the other man come but just enough pressure and speed to bring him to the edge.

Each smooth stroke ran from the root of his dick to the tip, twisting slightly over the sensitive head every time. Dean bucked his hips up, moaning and panting, begging Castiel to increase the speed. But he didn’t, just smiled and continued the maddening pace, watching Dean fall apart underneath him.

“Do you like your reward, gorgeous?” He breathed, aching to touch his own cock but forcing himself to be patient. He almost laughed, all good things require patience, he hummed to himself.

“Y-y—” Dean tried to stutter out a response but cut himself off by moaning and straining, unable to speak. 

“You were so good, worked so hard today,” he tightened his grip and Dean practically howled. “Wanted to give you something special.” 

“Cas, Cas.” He panted, eyes looking at him pleadingly. 

The way Dean said his name called up that possessiveness again and he found himself panting, “See what I can do for you, baby, when you’re good? See how I can make you feel?” His hand started to move faster but still too slow for Dean to finish. “Do you like being my good boy?”

“Yes!” Dean shouted, hips trying desperately to push up into Castiel’s tight fist. But Castiel’s body was too strong, keeping him still.

“Am I everything to you?” He rumbled, needing to hear him say it, needing it to be true.

“Cas,” Dean moaned.

“Tell me, baby,” he pressed. “Am I everything to you?” 

“I—you—” Dean stumbled over his words. “Everything, Cas—you’re, Cas,” he whined.

And that was it. Castiel wrapped his fist around both their cocks and started pumping desperately, erratically. Dean strained his head up, seeking, and Castiel slammed their mouths together. Teeth clashed as they frantically licked into each other’s mouths. Precome ran down the side of his hand and it was impossible to tell whose it was. Everything felt so good he was dizzy; falling forward he had to brace himself with his elbow on the bed, panting hotly in Dean’s ear. 

Dean’s hands came up to run through Castiel’s hair, pull his mouth back for another kiss. Saliva ran between them, Castiel alternating between biting those plush lips and sucking on that wicked tongue. They moaned together, hips thrusting their cocks together through his fist. Dean was the first to finish—body seizing up and coming hot and wet over Castiel’s hand. A minute later, Castiel grunted, spilling across Dean’s stomach and chest.

Breathing raggedly, they collapsed together on the bed, matching smiles across their faces. They lay like that for a long time before Dean finally shuffled to the bathroom to clean himself off. Castiel watched him go, smiling at the sight of such a beautiful man. When he got back Castiel scooped him up in his arms and buried his head in the other man’s hair, breathing in the sweaty-sweet smell of him. With Dean’s head on his chest, arms wrapped around each other, everything seemed to be right. He ran his fingers through the short brown hair, and closed his eyes. 

He was almost asleep when Dean started speaking again. “Cas,” he asked hesitantly, quietly.

“Yes, Dean.” He mumbled. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Castiel yawned, “Anything.”

“Are there others?”

“Others?”

“Earlier, you said. You said that you reward your good boys. I just, are there other people that you, that you do this with?”

There was a long silence, he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt so reluctant to talk about this—it had never bothered him before. “Not this,” he said hesitantly, motioning to the way they were cuddling. “But, yes, I do have other sexual relationships.”

Another silence passed between them. “Oh,” Dean finally whispered, keeping his face hidden against Castiel’s chest.

Enough time went by that he wondered if Dean had fallen asleep. He considered not saying anything but something about the way this conversation had ended sat wrong with him. Suddenly, he felt nervous. “I could,” he began, not entirely sure what he was offering. There was a long pause before he finally continued speaking, slowly, softly, “I could stop. Seeing them, that is. If you want.”

“I think.” Dean murmured against his chest, hot breath puffing out against him. “I think I don’t want to share you.”

“Okay.” Castiel said, a strange kind of happiness uncurled somewhere within him and filled his limbs with a buzzing warmth. 

“Okay.” Dean said and Castiel could feel his smile as he nuzzled against him. “Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“You’ll be here when I wake up, right?” He sounded nervous again.

“I,” he faltered, not wanting to lie. “I may have some business before then.”

Silence again, this time it set Castiel on edge. “Okay,” Dean yawned, “promise you’ll wake me up before you go.”

“I promise.”

“G’night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” He said, tightening his grip around the other man and wishing desperately that he wouldn’t have to leave him. Not tonight, not ever. This is where he belonged, right here, in this beautiful man’s arms. He fell asleep happy, hoping that everything else in his life would just melt away, that the universe would conspire to allow him this.

It was around three in the morning when a loud crash sent both of them jolting up right. Dean’s hand was around his gun in a second, Castiel reaching for the lamp by beside the bed, heart hammering in his throat. His mind was racing with possibilities as the light flicked on, thinking that maybe Michael did know, maybe he followed me here and now Dean’s not safe—

“Rise and shine, Cassie!” Balthazar shouted, beaming wildly at the scene before him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right. But you can’t just walk up to a mafia king and kill him, they’re like a hydra.”
> 
> “You cut off one head—”
> 
> “And another one grows right back in its place, yeah.”
> 
> “Okay, so how do you kill a hydra?”
> 
> “You cut off all of its heads at once.”

“Cas?” Dean hesitated, the last thing he wanted was to annoy the guy into changing his mind and besides he’d been enough of a freakin’ baby for one night, thank you very much. Still, he needed to know if Cas was gonna be there when he woke up. Call it intuition or whatever, but he felt this queasy sick sort of anxiety settling in, like his body was convinced it was going to wake up worried and alone.

“Yes, Dean?” The sleepy rumble of Castiel’s voice filled him with warmth. This was his, he was allowed to want this, allowed to worry and ask questions. 

He took a deep quiet breath before speaking but somewhere in the space between his thoughts and his words he grew shy again, unsure. “You’ll be here when I wake up, right?”

“I,” Cas began but stopped. Dean’s heart was in his throat as he strained to pick up any sounds that might betray the other man’s thoughts, give an indication of whether the next few words would be a lie or not. “I may have some business before then. I’m sorry.”

Something in the way he spoke seemed to settle the anxiety that’d built up, like the soft admission served to cement their new relationship. The thought made him giddy—Castiel really was his now, wanted this thing between them to work. So he was gonna leave in the middle of the night? This was normal, this could be normal. “Okay,” he said as casually as physically possible, even managing to fake a yawn, “promise you’ll wake me up before you go.”

“I promise.” The words came out without any hesitation, making him relax even further. Normal, he thought, they could make this work. This is what couples—or whatever they were—did. 

“G’night, Cas.” Came his own tired murmur as he leaned forward to softly kiss the other man’s chest. 

“Goodnight, Dean.” 

Castiel tightened his arms, pulling him in even closer until they were tucked tightly together. Sleep came in waves, dreamy thoughts of family dinners, introducing the man he, well, really liked to Sammy. It was a ridiculous, crazy, sappy thing to imagine but it was his dream. If he wanted to indulge in stupid domestic fantasies in the privacy of his own head that was his business—thank you very much.

All of the sudden the door flung open, light flickering on, startling Dean out of a deep sleep he hadn’t even noticed falling into. The colt was in his hands before even registering being awake, head instinctively snapping to Cas who was clutching the lamp in a sleepy fog. Turning back to their attacker, Dean cocked his gun completely ready to shot first and ask questions later.

From the corner of his eye he could see Cas setting the lamp back down, body visibly relaxing as his brain took in the mystery man grinning in the doorway. A hand fell over top of his, forcing him to lower the gun. He didn’t he get a chance to ask Cas what the hell he was thinking before the stranger was shouting, “Rise and shine Cassie!” in a cocky British accent that irritated Dean almost instantly. 

Wait—Cassie? Had that pompous bag of dicks just called his—whatever Cas was—Cassie? Something about that made Dean’s blood boil even more so than the fact the asshole just broke into his apartment at three in the morning. He looked between the two men, eyes narrowing as they took in their familiarity, how casual and comfortable the stranger seemed, the way his short sandy hair framed playful blue eyes. He groaned internally, the man was obviously and unfairly attractive.

Of course Castiel was friends with attractive, spontaneous men who just broke into people’s apartments in the middle of the night. He wondered just how well they knew each other, worrying that maybe—well, they were both attractive and it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch to imagine them—

Dean coughed awkwardly, trying to distract his own mind from that train of thought. “Who the—” was all he managed to get out before being interrupted.

“Balthazar,” Castiel said, voice sleep rough and clearly annoyed, a fact that totally didn’t make Dean smile smugly. “I told you,” he continued, stifling a yawn and leaning back against the bed frame, “to retrieve me. Breaking in was unnecessary.” 

“Couldn’t help myself, Cassie,” the man—Balthazar—shrugged, a perverse grin uncurling on his face, “had to sneak a peak at your little pet.” Eyes raked over Dean’s bare chest, making him flush and pull the covers up. The man chuckled, “And my, my, my! You’ve been holding out on us! Does he blush like a virgin on command?”

“Hey—” 

“Leave Dean alone.” Castiel snapped, voice a freakin’ scary ass mix of pissed off and threatening that left absolutely zero room for debate. “Dean, I,” he faltered, concern clouding his eyes, everything about him instantly softer. If this kept up, he was gonna get whiplash. It was hard enough keeping up with Cas’ moods without experiencing this kind of back and forth. “Apologies,” he said, running a hand through Dean’s hair, “I—we have business.”

“Oh,” Balthazar crooned, “you talk so sweetly to him Cassie. I’m jealous.” He pretended to pout for a minute but stopped immediately when Cas leveled him with the scariest look either of them had ever seen. It was beautiful but terrifying, the kinda thing that looked like the fearsome wrath of heaven bundled up inside one man. It dawned on him that this was probably why they called him The Angel, making him wonder how many people had seen that look and lived to talk about it.

“Go wait outside.” Castiel said coldly, eyes hard and dangerous as they watched Balthazar slowly shrink from the room. The second they were alone hands were on Dean’s face, thumbs moving in slow circles under his eyes. Somehow, despite everything that had just happened, the gesture still managed to ease the tension from his body and he let his eyes slip shut. Without his permission, his body leaned forward hoping the other man would pull their mouths together. 

Cas obliged him, whispering: “I’m sorry,” between kisses.

“For what?” Dean mumbled absently as Cas pulled back, eyes lashes fluttering back open to meet the man’s gaze.

“For leaving in the middle of the night,” he pressed a kiss to one cheek, “for Balthazar,” then the other, “and for scaring you.” He found his way back to Dean’s lips and kissed him deeply, carding nimble fingers through his hair.

“It’s okay,” he said dazedly, still leaning into their kiss even after Castiel had wandered away to get dressed. The view of which was fantastic—the way he bent down, showing off the perkiness of his ass, the curve of his spine, the taper of his waist—making Dean groan quietly to himself. When the other man was done dressing, he bent over the bed for one last gentle kiss and Dean took the opportunity to straighten his crooked tie. Cas smiled, “Bye, baby,” he breathed hotly, “be good while I’m gone.”

“I will be.” He caught a glimpse of a smile as the man turned to leave the room. “Be safe,” he called but his voice came out barely more than a whisper. Still, Castiel heard, turning back to throw him a cheeky grin. “Always, baby.” 

Then he was gone, out with his stupid friend doing god knows what for god knows what reason and leaving Dean alone in an apartment that suddenly felt much too big for one person. To stave off the loneliness he let himself collapse back into bed on Cas’ side and wrapped himself up in the still warm blankets. They smelled like him, like the ocean or a thunderstorm, something powerful and daunting. 

He sighed. Balthazar had shattered the illusion of normalcy but the lingering memory of Castiel’s kisses kept him from being too upset. Regardless of what they were doing together, it was just business and Dean could live with just business. 

Belatedly, he realized that Balthazar was most definitely a criminal; someone that he should arrest not hope will keep his criminal lover safe. His criminal, he thought and smiled despite himself. If there was one thing he was good at, it was ignoring things he didn’t want to deal with and so pointedly pushed all and any thoughts about what the two men were doing out of his mind. So when he finally fell back to sleep, it was deep and sound and completely consumed by thoughts of bright blue eyes and messy brown hair. 

The sound of the alarm pulled him from dreams of white picket fences and rocking chairs. He yawned contentedly, laying there tangled in the sheets, body thrumming with a strange mix of anxiety and excitement. Despite being worried about the exact nature of Cas’ business, he was feeling thrilled in a way that words didn’t seem fully able to capture. He was happy like, really, really happy. His mind was relaxed, limbs loose and pliant from the night before—the night before, he blushed, biting his lip as the ghost of Cas’ fingers ran up his sides and down his back. 

Shaking his head, he tried not to laugh. This was all so ridiculous and wonderful and impossible. He closed his eyes and let the feeling wash over him, course through his veins and infect every damn part of his body. 

Today was going to be a good day. In the shower, he rubbed his hands into a soapy lather and trailed them across his body, humming a little at the touch. With his eyes shut it was easy to imagine his fingers were Castiel’s, running teasingly across his torso, brushing against his nipples. It was early enough in the morning to spare a few minutes to do this properly, to build up all the tension in his body before finally grabbing his cock. He gasped as he jerked himself, imitating the other man’s rough, sure strokes.

It felt so good, almost too good, and he pictured the way it would feel if Cas were standing behind him—erection pressing against his ass and those nimble fingers worked him ruthlessly. Dean leaned against the wall of the shower, trying to steady himself as that feeling in his gut started building and building. If Cas were here he’d be rubbing his hard cock against Dean’s body, panting hotly into his ear, maybe biting down on his neck. He moaned, imagination calling up images of Castiel coming hot coming between right as his fingers twisted and—

Dean gasped as he came all over his fingers and the wall, laughing breathlessly as the water rinsed it down the drain. It took a few minutes to recover, slumping against the wall for support. Back in the bedroom, he started humming again as he stared contemplatively at the contents of the top drawer of his dresser. The panties, he let out a breath and stared, tracing the edges of their fine fabric with his fingertips. 

They all looked so beautiful, so delicate. It was hard to pick out just the right one, the one that would drive Cas crazy to see him wearing. In the end, he settled on the white lace, shivering as the rougher material dragged over his thighs and hypersensitive cock. Like the last pair they fit perfectly, making him wonder how the other man could have guessed his measurements so exactly. 

In front of the mirror he stood admiring the way the panty pulled tightly around his cock, how they framed his ass perfectly. The daintiness of the ribbons of white lace stood out against the contrast of his tanned, muscular body and the difference made him feel hot all over. It was like he was catching a glimpse of himself the way Cas saw him—as something beautiful. Memories of getting screwed last night, panties rubbing against his dick with every single one of those deep, powerful thrusts, looped over and over in his mind. 

Had he been ten years younger, his cock would’ve been hard again in a second. As it was, he just squirmed slightly, reveling in the feeling of lace dragging roughly against his still sensitive skin. This wasn’t the time, anyway. This was a thank you, something to repay the other man for the gentle touches and kindness of the night before. Without another tempting thought, he yanked on a pair of pants over the fabric and finished getting dressed. 

There were still a few minutes before he had to leave so instead of rushing out the door, he took the time to make a large mug of the coffee Cas had given him. Every sip made him smile even more; it felt good to have these things, these gifts. It felt good to have Castiel’s attention—all of his attention, he smiled bashfully at the thought before noticing the time and—shit, yeah—it was definitely time to go. 

Work was boring. After everything that happened last night, he’d half expected something big to go down. A bank robbery or art theft or violent crime, but there was nothing not even a petty theft to entertain them. It was almost eerily calm. Something about quiet made him nervous, like it was the calm before some horrible shit storm of bad. He tried desperately to keep himself from wondering what Castiel and his friend had done last night.

It wasn’t until noon that shit actually hit the fan. Nearly the entire department was huddled around the kitchen drinking coffee and gossiping idly when the phone at Dean’s desk started to ring. Reluctantly, he wandered back to answer and nearly dropped scalding hot coffee all over himself when a familiar deep voice rumbled through the line. “Hello, Dean.”

“Cas,” he hissed, eyes darting around the room to make sure no one was within earshot. “You can’t call me at work, if they ever found—”

“Dean,” the gruff voice brooked no argument and he felt his mouth snapping shut in response. On the other line Castiel sighed deeply, clearly exhausted. 

“Why are you calling?” He finally managed to ask, feeling an overwhelming sense of worry clawing its way up his spine. 

“I need you to come to the factory district. The abandoned munitions building. Hurray.”

“Why do you want me—”

“No,” Castiel cut him off in that same tone of finality. “Tell your superior, bring the department.”

He was about to say more, to protest or demand some kind of details but the man cut him off again, “This business is time sensitive, Dean. Move quickly.”

The phone call cut out before any more time could be wasted—Cas certainly had a way of getting the point across. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, mind running through a million possible scenarios for what the other man could have done. Why the whole department? he thought, rubbing clammy hands against his pants. Whatever this was, it wasn’t anything good. 

A small voice in the back of his head wondered whether this was some kind of trap, like their whole relationship had been part of an elaborate set up to get the whole Lawrence police department in one place and—no. He refused to even consider the possibility. This was Cas, his Cas, if he said it was business then that’s what it was. 

“Benny,” he called, rushing over to his partner. 

“Need somethin’ brother?” Benny took his shoulder, concern crossing his face, “Woah, what’s got you so spooked?”

“We need to get Bobby. Now. Something’s happened in the factory district.”

“Something’s happened?” He laughed uneasily, “Got anythin’ else for me or am I supposed ‘ta tell the captain you just got a bad feeling in your gut?”

“I’m serious, man,” their eyes met for a moment, a thousand words of worry conveyed in the look. 

Benny sighed, head shaking slightly. “Alright, alright. Put the doe eyes away, Bambi. I’ll go tell Kevin to make the call.”

“We need every available officer, Ben. All of them.”

“This better be some something, brother.” 

Seconds later the whole department was scrambling to get ready, emptying the armory almost entirely then rushing to their cruisers. It was a whirlwind of panic and frantic motions, the atmosphere of the building turned on its head by one phone call. All in all, it took ‘em about ten minutes to get everything ready, Dean and Benny sliding into the impala to lead a small army of squad cars toward something big and bad and unknown.

The anxiety was mounting the closer they got to the factory district, nervous voice in his head too loud to silence now. All these what-ifs and should-you-really-trust-hims were bouncing around in his thoughts, screaming at him to turn back.

“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, Dean?” Benny’s voice cut through his all his worrying, sharply tugging him back to reality. 

He gripped the steering wheel, trying to focus on the road ahead. “I don’t,” he started but stopped, “I got tipped off is all. Something big is going down and we’re gonna check it out.”

“Tipped off?”

“Yeah, some anonymous caller—”

“Just tipped you off.” Benny asked suspiciously.

“Yeah.” He snapped.

“And you just believed him?” 

A series of irritated quips were on his tongue in an instant but that’s not what came out of his mouth. Instead he asked, “Why do you assume it’s a him?” blushing a little as he spoke. 

“No reason.” Came his almost too casual reply.

Dean pulled his eyes away from the road to scowl at his friend. “Benny, why do you assume it’s a him?”

“Look, man, you know I trust you. You know I’d do anything you ask ‘cause I know you’d do anything to get the job done.”

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly, not entirely sure where this was going.

“So maybe you’ve done somethin’ not so,” he paused, searching for the right word, “above board, in the past. I’m not—you know I wouldn’t judge you, right brother?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look, I’m just sayin’ that if you’ve done somethin’ awhile ago that—”

“Dammit, Benny, just spit it out!” He shouted, face flushed. “What do you think I did?”

They stared at each other for a moment, his friend’s face full of pity and understanding. “I think you let our friend The Angel escape couple ‘a months back an’ he’s out spying on the big bads for ya’ now.”

Dean was speechless. Benny knew him like the back of his hand, they’d been partners ever since the academy, but he’d never expected him to hit the nail so close on the head. “I—” He started but the words seemed to fail him.

“Look, like I was sayin’. I trust you to get the job done. I don’t know what kinda deal you made but I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

They lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive through town. Multiple times he started to speak—to thank him or apologize he wasn’t sure—but every time his mouth opened, the words would just die on his tongue. Nothing was big enough, everything fell short, so they both just focused on the road ahead and the possible nightmare waiting for them to discover.

The old factory district was a spooky enough setting and as they pulled up Dean felt his chest tighten. There were already a series of squad cars surrounding the munitions building and a few ambulances idling near by, but nothing explicitly terrible. 

“Fun must be inside.” Benny commented, stepping out of the car. Dean took a few steadying breaths before heading in the direction of a disgruntled looking Bobby, shouting at some rookies to reaction off the crime scene. 

“Boy, I don’t know how you knew about this but am I ever glad you did.” Bobby said solemnly, walking back toward the entrance to the munitions building. “If yer feelin’ squeamish you might not want to look,” was the only warning they got before the door was pulled open. The first thing that hit him was the smell, the coppery stench of blood and bodies. He cringed, stepping into the dark room. 

It didn’t take a detective to see that there’d been some kind of struggle. Blood was everywhere inside, splattered across the walls, pooled on the floor, and—oh god, yeah—covering the small pile of bodies in the center a few feet away from where they were standing. “What happened here?” Benny asked, the first to break their horrified silence.

“Been tryin’ ‘a figure that one out.”

“There’s more blood than there should be,” Dean commented, turning away from the mess and quickly stepping back outside. “Are there—did you find any others?” He asked, distantly worried about how much belonged to Cas.

“Yeah. You’re gonna love this—we found Alastair tied to a post inside, all bloodied up. Man was barely alive.”

“Alastair?” Dean paled, felt like he was going to pass out.

“Who’re the dead guys?” Benny cut in.

“Couple of Alastair’s mooks. Few of ‘em we’ve been trying to find for years. Real bad company.”

“And they’re all dead, expect for Alastair?” Dean managed to spit out. 

“We got two civilians that made it out of the blood bath, as far as we can tell they were abducted and some mystery vigilante took out Alastair’s whole entourage. Rescued ‘em but we ain’t sure why. Don’t think they were the reason this all happened though, think they just got lucky.”

“So we thinking a—ah—a rival gang or some Captain America wanna be?” He tried to joke but his throat was dry, images of Balthazar and Castiel kept flashing in his head making him feel sick. 

“Very funny, boy. I don’t know what did this but we damn well better hope it’s on our side.” Bobby shook his head, “I don’t even know whether to count this as a miracle or a nightmare.”

“Questioned the survivors yet?” Benny asked.

“Yeah, Henriksen’s been asking them questions but they ain’t respondin’. Kids had quite a shock to their systems; don’t think they saw much anyway. Found ‘em cowering in the back seat of one those cars,” he jerked a thumb in the directions of a sleek black car.

Dean tried to swallow down the bile building up in his throat. “I’ll go, uh, see if Vic needs any help.” He stuttered out, stumbling over to the ambulance still idling in the parking lot. This couldn’t have been Cas, no way. It had to be a coincidence or something his Cas couldn’t do this, couldn’t kill those men like that. The voice in his head reminded him unhelpfully that the man he was sleeping with was a dangerous criminal first, lover second. 

But if this was Cas—well that would mean this was partially his fault. If he’d never made that stupid deal, if he’d just arrested the man, none of those people would be dead. Thinking about that made him feel physically sick and he tried his best to push the nausea away.

Victor was crouched in front of a pretty looking redhead with a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders and what looked like very little else on underneath. Standing beside them was a short brown haired man, expression a mix of concern and fear. 

“It’s okay,” Victor said, taking the woman’s hand. “You were both really brave today. You’re alive and that’s what counts.” The woman sniffed sadly, eyes trailing to where Dean was coming up from the side, the other detective following her gaze a second later. “Hey Dean.” He waved half-heartedly.

“Vic,” he nodded, plastering on his warmest smile. “I see you’ve made some new friends, gonna introduce us?”

The girl smiled slightly, flicking her eyes to the ground. “Dean this is Anna and her brother Gabriel, guys this is one of our best detectives. I swear, if he’s on the case it’ll be solved in no time.” 

Normally, he make a joke about or take the opportunity to flirt a little but the compliment he’d just been given left a sour taste in his mouth. Instead, he looked up at the brown haired man who seemed at least a bit steadier than the girl. “Heard you two were pretty unlucky.”

Gabriel laughed bitterly, “You can say that again.”

“I don’t know, Gabe,” Anna said softly, eyes still trained on the ground. “I think we were pretty lucky.”

“That’s right, something about a mystery vigilante? Either of you remember anything about what happened? Any little detail would be a big help.”

Anna looked nervous and sad again, like she was going to start crying before Gabriel stepped in to save her, “My sister works at a club down town. I was walking her home when—when,” 

“They grabbed you.” Dean finished. 

The man smiled gratefully, nodding once then barreling on. “After that it was all kind of a blur, I—I was so scared.”

“It’s okay, Gabe,” Anna sniffled, taking her brother’s hand. 

“Then all of a sudden the car stopped and the men got out. There was screaming but we just stayed right there in the car. After a while it was quiet. Then you guys showed up.”

Victor hummed, coming to stand beside Dean. “We found them in a car parked just outside the warehouse.”

“So you didn’t hear anything else,” Dean asked looking between the terrified siblings.

“No, I, I’m sorry we couldn’t help more.”

“No need to apologize, you did what anyone else would’ve. Hell, I probably wouldn’t ‘ve left the car either.” That got a small smile from both of them. “Any chance you can think of a reason why you might have been abducted in the first place?”

“I think they wanted—I think they meant to take Anna but I was causing a scene so they just took me too.”

He looked to Victor for confirmation and then man nodded. “Abduction rates are high around the seedier parts of town.”

“Girls have been going missing a lot lately,” Anna added, moving to stand closer to her brother.

“Right, well. I say we see about sending these two home.” 

“Mind keeping them company? I’ll go check in with Bobby, see if we can’t get them a ride home.”

“Yeah, no problem.” 

The minute Victor was out of earshot everything changed, the siblings looked completely different. Shy, nervous Anna was grinning ear to ear; her brother pulled a lollipop out of a pocket and popped it into his mouth. They were both looking at him like this was all one big joke, making him feel more unsettled than ever before. 

“Heya Dean-o!” Gabriel said, slinging an arm around Dean’s shoulders and pulling him close.

“Ex-excuse me?” He stuttered.

“He’s much prettier than I thought he’d be.” Anna observed, now meeting his gaze confidently.

“Cassie always had good taste, of course he was going to be pretty.”

“Has not,” Anna protested, “remember that one guy—Bartholomew.”

Gabriel mock shivered, “good point.”

“I, I don’t understand,” Dean finally interrupted, causing both of them to look at him.

“Oh don’t worry so much! You’ll ruin that pretty little face with all those lines.” Gabriel reached a hand out to squish and pinch his cheeks.

“Who are you?” He barked, shaking the other man off of him.

“Friends of Castiel.” Anna said easily, “he wanted to make sure everything went smoothly once you got here.”

“Went smoothly, what do you—what do you mean?”

“Oh you know,” Gabriel sucked on the candy contemplatively for a moment. “Wanted to make sure you caught Alastair, that you weren’t ambushed, didn’t die. That sorta thing. Cross the I’s, dot the T’s.”

“Cas, he, he did all this?” His heart sank, already knowing the answer. 

“Who d’ya think did it? It’s a good thing you’ve got your looks, pretty boy.” Gabriel pinched his nose but just as he was about to snap at the man, he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

“It really is your lucky day. Managed to wrangle two first class seats in the squad car with Kevin!” Victor beamed at the siblings, who were back to looking like pathetic civilians. Dean tried to force a smile, feeling even sicker now that he was essentially lying to Victor by not arresting the two. A part of him begged and thrashed and screamed for him to say something, anything, but a bigger part knew that talking would mean betraying Cas and he just couldn’t do it.

Instead—being the messed up coward that he was—he just stood their watching the car pull out, an honest cop taking two criminals home. This wasn’t right, this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Everything was so far from okay that he couldn’t even think of a way to dig himself out of the morally bankrupt shithole he’d jumped right into. Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face then trudging back to work a case he already knew who the murderer was. 

When they finally got back to the station it was pushing eight and all Dean wanted to do was keep working. Going home would probably mean facing the fact that in no small part, this whole mess was his fault. It made him want to laugh that Benny imagined him as some kind of righteous man, skirting around the law to get the job done. Really, he was just an insecure man with a crush on a killer. There was no justifiable reason for his actions; he wasn’t some kind of hero. He was just horny and lonely and seriously messed up. 

He stayed doing paperwork for a few more hours, refusing to leave until Bobby actually kicked him out. “Go home, kid.” He said sternly, “You’re running yourself ragged for no good reason. Alastair ain’t wakin’ up anytime soon and ‘till then, we got nothing.”

“Bobby,” he started but the older man cut him off.

“Get some sleep boy. That’s an order.” Dean faked another smile and reluctantly left the station and headed home. It was pushing midnight now, so he hoped that meant the apartment would be empty or at the very least that any unwanted guests would be asleep. He needed time to figure things out and right now he was more afraid of Castiel than anything, leery of the man’s strength, his temper. 

His heart sunk when he saw the glow of light under the door and he pushed it open slowly, trying to make as little sound as possible. Inside his eyes immediately landed on the other man, pouring two glasses of whiskey. Those of feelings of suspicion and fear crept up his skin and the voice at the back of his head started shouting, begging, reminding him that Castiel was murderer, a violent criminal. Turn back, call for help, go, go, go! But despite the, frankly, good advice his subconscious was yelling, his feat remained planted in place. After having seen those bodies, the state of Alastair in the hospital, it was more difficult than ever to reconcile the man humming in his kitchen with the brutal killer on wanted posters. Somehow, despite it all, his body seemed drawn to Cas so instead of calling for help, he just stood there like an idiot. 

“We brought Alastair in.” He said uneasily, eyes fixed on the other man, trying to anticipate his actions like the other man might jump at him any second.

But that’s not what happened, Cas just smiled slightly and offered over a glass. “I believe congratulations are in order, then.”

“I guess.” He took a sip, still tracking every movement, looking for any indication that he might—

“You’re not pleased.” Castiel frowned, head tilting in confusion.

“Yeah, Cas,” he breathed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You kind of—man, you kind of messed him up.”

The man’s face went blank instantly; body shutting down like it was ridding itself of all emotion. “He was not very cooperative.” Came the monotone reply.

“Yeah. I guess not.” Dean muttered into his drink, feeling the way Castiel’s eyes were trained on him, boring into him, but he refused to look back up. 

“You arrested a very bad man today, be thankful.” Something in his voice made it sound like a warning not to try his patience and that, more than anything, set Dean off.

“And I’m screwing another very bad man, Cas!” He shouted, glaring at Castiel.

There was a long pointed silence where they were locked in some kind of angry staring contest. After a few moments the other man took a sip of his drink and moved to sit at the table. “Our business isn’t complete.”

“Oh, right. Almost forgot I’m about to help a criminal steal something from the police.”

“I need you to retrieve a gun for me.” He continued, ignoring Dean’s comment.

“What?” Dean’s head snapped toward Cas, his mouth hanging open. “You’re kidding me.”

“I assure you, I am not.”

“You want me to risk my job—my life—for a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Cas, you already have a gun. Hell, you can have my gun!”

“No, I need a specific gun. The gun in your evidence lock-up.”

“I—I—” Dean fumbled, trying to put together some kind of response, to figure out some way to explain how ridiculous this was.

“You took it off me when I was arrested. I need it back, preferably within the next few days.”

“Look, Cas.” He scrubbed a head over his face in frustration. “I’m not going to steal back your gun just because you have some weird sentimental attachment to it. Get a new one, move on man.”

“It’s not my gun.”

“What?”

“It’s not my gun. It’s a gun, one I stole and hid in your evidence lock-up. Now I need it back. We had a deal, Dean.”

“Whose gun is it?”

“It belongs to someone important. Who exactly is irrelevant for you.”

“And you stole it, why?”

“To cause unrest. Look, Dean, this is not important—”

“Hell yes it is!” He shouted, the anger mounting steadily. “If I’m going to steal you a gun I wanna freakin’ know why I’m doing it!”

“You’re doing it because I told you to.” Cas growled.

“You hid it.” He was struck by the sudden realization of what the other man had said.

“Yes.”

“How did you hide it in my evidence lock-up?”

“I told you—you took it from me when I was arrested.”

“But it’s not your gun.”

“Correct.”

“So why did you have it when I arrested you?”

Castiel paused, face grimacing in concern for a second before composing himself again. This was obviously information he hadn’t intended to give away. “Dean,” he warned.

“No, no, no. Don’t you Dean me. How the hell did you deliberately hide it in evidence, if I arrested you in public and found the gun on you? There’s no way you could have known we were coming to arrest you. I took the tip myself; I didn’t call for backup until I was at the restaurant. No one could have warned you!”

The man actually scoffed at him, face contorting into the most condescending smile he’d ever seen. “Dean,” he breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “After fours years chasing me. After four years trying to catch me doing anything even the slightest bit illegal—you never wondered? Never thought that it was all a bit too easy?”

“No. No. You did not let yourself get caught—you would never do that!” He shouted, taking a step back. “It makes no sense!”

“It makes no difference now.” Cas waved off the comment, like that was the end of the whole matter.

“It makes all difference!” He spat. “This whole thing—everything was a lie! You were just setting me up, using me so you could hide some stolen gun!” 

“Dean, it’s not like that. I,” he faltered, eyes looking defiantly at Dean. “I care about you.”

“You care about me? Oh that’s rich. You don’t even trust me, Cas! You used me!”

“I stole the gun. I needed an irrefutable alibi and a good hiding place—you provided me with both.”

“So this—”

“But I also couldn’t pass up an opportunity to meet you,” he tried to smile.

“Son of a bitch. You set it all up.” Dean snapped disbelievingly and Castiel’s entire face fell.

“I did.”

“This was all part of some plan. You knew from the beginning that I’d catch you, knew that I was pathetic enough to let you use me, knew you’d easily get away.”

“It wasn’t like that, Dean.” Cas’ voice was rougher than usual, face etched with concern as he stood up and tried to close the gap between them. Dean was breathing heavily, the anger coursing through his body making him feel like he’d been running. Castiel reached a hand out to cup his face and he batted the man away. “I never believed anything would happen between us.” Cas said quietly, looking at the ground.

“And that’s why you seduced me.” He laughed humorously.

“I was—hopeful. You’re an attractive man, I saw an opportunity.”

“To use me.”

“I didn’t use you, Dean.” Castiel’s anger was back, lashing out dangerously. Under any other circumstances he’d probably have been afraid but right now he was blinded by his own hurt, anger, the deep sense of betrayal. 

“Beyond tricking me into arresting you, stashing a gun in my lock-up, and then escaping.”

“Yes,” he said sternly. “Though, you were never part of the escape.”

“That’s not what you said before.”

“I needed you to think it was your fault.”

“What?” He barked.

“I needed you to believe it was your fault and keep the others from looking too far into my means.”

“So you lied to me again.”

“I’m sorry that you find this so upsetting—”

“You’re sorry I find this upsetting? What the hell are you, some kind of emotionless robot? ‘Course I find this upsetting! You freakin’ lied to me Cas, right to my face again and again. You made me think you cared about me, that I actually meant something to you.”

“Dean, I didn’t—”

“You know what, screw you Cas.”

They were quiet for a long time, eyes locked on each other, panting from having shouted so much. The frustration and exhaustion was clear on both of their faces, so much so that a big part of wanted nothing more than to let the other man scoop him up in his arms and take them both to bed. But that wasn’t going to happen—this man had never cared about him, everything between them was a lie, a joke to Castiel. He felt pathetic, worthless. “How. How did you do it, tell me.” He said as calmly as possible.

“I have,” he paused, clearly considering whether or not to tell the truth, then sighed resignedly. “I have an inside man.”

“Yeah, the guy you’re screwing!”

“No, another one.”

“Another detective you’re screwing? Awesome. Who the hell else is getting used by you?”

“No, Dean.” He said, sounding more tired than ever. “You are the only detective I have ever enjoyed—”

“Who the hell is helping you? Tell me now or I swear, Cas, I’ll arrest you right here and put the whole damn department under investigation.”

“No you won’t.” He said matter of factly before slumping back down into a chair and pulling out another for Dean. Cautiously, he accepted the seat too tired to stand any more. “It’s too great a risk for me to tell you. I truly wish circumstances were different.”

“Why is he helping you?” Dean pressed.

“Because he believes in my mission.” Cas shrugged, finishing the scotch in his glass and picking up the bottle to pour another. 

“Okay.” Dean said, surprisingly steadily, nodding when Castiel offered to pour him another drink. “Okay. What’s your mission?”

“I told you, it’s too dangerous—”

“Dammit Cas, stop keeping things from me! You gotta trust me, man.” He slammed his fist down on the table.

“I do trust you, Dean.” He said so softly it made Dean’s chest tighten uncomfortably, made him want to take Castiel’s hand and tell him they could fix this. But he didn’t say that, instead he snapped, “No, you don’t. If you cared at all about me, you wouldn’t treat me like a pawn. You’d treat me like an equal, like a friggin’ partner.”

“Dean,” Cas said imploringly, eyes begging for him to just let this go.

“No. Either you tell me everything—you trust me—right now or you get out of my apartment. If you can’t trust me then I don’t ever want to see you again.”

Castiel’s jaw snapped shut and they sat there staring at each other for a few minutes. Then, without warning, the other man rose slowly from the chair. As he walked toward the door, he stopped to run his thumb along one of Dean’s cheeks, bending down to kiss him chastely on the head. He only lingered there for a moment, then walked straight out the door leaving Dean shocked and alone in the kitchen.

He sat there like that so a long time, drinking himself into the ground. Eventually he found his way to the phone. It seemed like such a good idea as he collapsed on the floor, pressing his face to the receiver.

“Hello?” Came Sam’s drowsy reply.

“Sammy boy!”

“Dean? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Who cares Sammy! God,” he slurred almost incomprehensibly into the phone, “need to freakin’ lighten up.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Totally blotto.” He hiccupped happily.

Sam sighed, “I’m coming over—”

“No!” He shouted, suddenly afraid. “No, Sammy! You stay. Don’t wan’ you ta see me like this.”

“Well too bad, Dean. I’m coming over. Don’t do anything stupid until I get there.”

“Fine.” He hung up, tossing the phone across the room and then closed his eyes like if he couldn’t see what a disaster he was then neither would Sam. At some point in the twenty minutes it took his brother to get there, he’s fallen asleep. So it’s hardly his fault that when warm hands gently started shaking him awake he thought they belonged to someone else. “Cas?” He slurred hopefully, eyes still too bleary to make out the figure in front of him. “Sorry, Cas, ‘m so sorry I said that.”

“Dean? Dean what are you saying?” Sam was helping him stumble back to his bedroom.

“Sammy? Why’re you here? Me ‘n Cas are jus’ talkin’.”

“Who’s Cas? No one else is here.” The concern in his voice registered distantly and Dean blinked as he collapsed on the bed, scanning the room for Cas.

“Oh. ‘m still alone, huh?”

“Dean, why don’t you tell me what’s going on. Why do you smell like a liquor store?”

“Got into a fight with Cas ‘n he left.” 

“Okay. Who is Cas?”

Dean’s eyes went wide and his voice cracked, “I messed up Sammy. I messed the whole thing up and now it’s my fault that people are dying because he killed them for me.”

“Dean. I need you to tell me who Cas is.” His brother’s voice sounded urgent and that made everything else seem urgent too.

“Cas! Castiel! Angel of the fuckin’ mob, Sammy.” 

“Oh, Dean. What did you do?”

“I messed up. He gave me Alastair. Gave me the man that tortured dad, he, and I, I told him to go.”

“I—you’re going to need to slow down and tell me everything that happened. From the beginning.”

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur of crying and slurred words as Dean stumbled through the whole story. At the time it felt amazing, finally telling someone the truth—telling Sammy the truth. He told him about the arrest, the escape, their deal, probably a few inappropriate comments about the sex, and finally he talked about their fight. By the end he was so emotionally drained, raw from the crying and the alcohol, that all he wanted to do was collapse.

“I think you should go to bed now.” Sam said very seriously, getting up from where he’d been sitting on the bed.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Dean sniffed.

“I’m not—I need time to process this. Get some sleep.”

He nodded dully, letting his eyes close shut and body curl in on itself. When morning came he woke up with the worst headache of his life, and the uneasy feeling that he’d done something stupid. Like, really friggin’ stupid. Beyond letting Cas walk out the door, he didn’t remember a thing. It was all just a blur of alcohol and the thought reminded him of his pounding head. 

From down the hall he could hear the sounds of someone in the kitchen, could smell eggs and coffee. Cas, he thought, he came back. Dean’s heart pounded excitedly in his chest and he jumped out of bed, not caring that the sudden movement made him want to keel over and die. It didn’t matter Cas came back, he hadn’t wanted to leave.

When he got to the kitchen, though, his face fell. Standing over the stove wasn’t his angel but his brother, and the discovery made his heart sink as much as it confused him.

“Sam?” he croaked, not realizing how dry his throat was.

“Morning, Dean.”

“Not that I don’t love the idea of you makin’ me breakfast, but what are you doing here?”

“You don’t remember, do you?”

He cringed; whatever it was that he’d forgotten was probably better left that way. If Sammy had come over last night it was pretty much guaranteed that they’d talked about—well, someone he did not want to be thinking about right now. “Dean it’s,” Sam started, clearly mistaking the look on his face for something else, “I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

Well, shit. “How much did I tell you?”

“All of it, I’m pretty sure. I know about Cas and the, uh, deal you made.”

“You don’t—you really don’t hate me?” He asked cautiously, fearing the worst.

“No.” He said, setting the food down on two plates and then taking the seat opposite Dean. “I think there’s a lot you don’t know about this guy.”

“No shit, Sammy.”

“I’m serious. From what you’ve said, though, he doesn’t,” he paused to consider, “he doesn’t sound like a bad person.”

“He’s a criminal. A criminal that I arrested.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t seem like a bad guy. After you went to bed I stayed up awhile researching him. I was pretty angry with you, wanted to know how bad the situation really was. So I looked through the files you had here—”

“Sam you’re not allowed—”

“I hardly think letting me look at some files is the most illegal thing you’ve done in the past twenty-four hours.” The bitchface Sam hit him with was definitely a-game and Dean put his hands up in surrender.

“Okay,” he said, facing lighting up with excited as he leaned in conspiratorially, “so get this—Cas works for some big scary gangsters, right? Well, what if he doesn’t actually want to work for them?”

“What?”

“Well,” Sam said, nearly knocking the table over as he ran into the living room to get the files. “Let’s say you somehow ended up falling into it with some bad guys, okay, but you desperately wanted out. What would you do?”

“You couldn’t just leave.” He realized, “the only way out would be if the whole organization fell. You’d have to take down the biggest, baddest son of a bitch of them all.”

“Right. But you can’t just walk up to a mafia king and kill him, they’re like a hydra.”

“You cut off one head—”

“And another one grows right back in its place, yeah.”

“Okay, so how do you kill a hydra?”

“You cut off all of its heads at once.”

“So what, you’d need to kill every single gang member? That’s gotta be hundreds of people!”

“You don’t need to kill them if you kill the organization itself.”

“Why not just tell the cops?”

“You guys would never be able to get enough evidence to convict them all and besides, Dean, you of all people should know that prison isn’t going to stop them if they still have power on the outside.”

“And you get the added bonus of having every bad son of a bitch out there after you.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, I’ll bite. What do you think Cas is up to?”

“I don’t know. But, okay, one thing that didn’t make any sense to me was why he picked Alastair in the first place.”

“Because he knew I’d only take the deal if he offered me the guy who killed dad.”

“I don’t think so, at least, I don’t think that’s the whole reason. I mean, why would even go to the trouble of obliterating those guys? That’s not his M.O., Dean, you used to say he was graceful.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s mind played through all the images he’d ever seem of crime scenes associated with Castiel. “He never left any blood, killed them with one stab wound to the throat and let them drain out. We assumed he hung them upside down and wash their bodies afterward.”

“Then one day he just up and starts slashing people bloody? And starts with Alastair Rolston? I mean, Dean, the guy is definitely one of the high ups in the Hell’s Army, it can’t be a coincidence.”

“Huh,” Dean grabbed one of the files, flipping through until he found the right page. “We’re pretty sure they’ve had an ongoing truce with the group Cas is associated with, for the past ten years. You think he’s trying to start some kind of war? Weaken both sides until they’re too scared of each other to do anything?”

“A stalemate, yeah. Think about it—make their power base too weak and insecure to keep its lesser members, take-out the big bosses somehow.”

“Both groups disintegrate.”

“Pretty much.”

“With the added bonus that no one will be able to point the finger at you and the people who stay will be too disorganized to get anything done anyway.”

“Effectively dismantle the entirety of organized crime. At least for awhile.”

“Long enough to get the police involved—”

“And put an end to it once and for all.”

“You really think Cas is trying to take it all down?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“But why keep it a secret from me? Why sneak around behind my back making shady deals? If he’d told me—”

“Think about it, Dean. An operation this scale? He’d be risking the lives of a lot of people if he told you. He’d be risking your life if he brought you into this mess.”

“Dammit, Sam. He brought me into it the minute he decided to have me arrest him.”

“I don’t think he sees it that way.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Stay out of his way, for your own safety. Let the cards fall how they may.”

“Sammy,” he said, trying to convey everything he felt for the man in one word.

“I know, I know. You’re not going to take my excellent advice.” Sam smiled ruefully and Dean couldn’t help but offer a weak smile in return. His brother sighed, “You really care about him, don’t you?”

“I—I don’t know what I feel.”

“Yes you do, it just scares you.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“All I know is that I haven’t seen you this happy, like, ever.”

“He’s still a criminal.”

“Yeah. But he’s a good man and you know it. You have to let yourself trust him too, you know.”

“Thank you, Sammy. I mean it.”

“You’re an idiot, though.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

It was days before Dean finally figured out what to do about the whole situation. The first problem was actually locating Castiel, which proved to be about as difficult as could be expected. Even with the full force of the police department finding the man had been impossible, so trying it along was pointless.

Shortly after that plan failed, while wallowing in self-pity, he realized that he had something the department never did—he knew that Cas needed something from evidence. Clearly he’d given up thinking Dean would fetch it for him which meant that he’d have to come get it himself, or at least send a crony Dean could beat down for a phone number or something.

So he set his grand plan in motion, which mostly amounted to sitting in the evidence lock-up all night for a week straight, holding the gun in his hand. Was it pathetic? Sure, but Dean didn’t care. This felt right—Sammy and Benny both supported him with this, both believed that there was something good about Cas. If he could just convince the other man to open up to him, they might be able to do some serious good. Mostly he thought karma was bullshit but hey, it couldn’t hurt to try to put an end to two major sources of crime and violence in the state. 

In the days leading up to his brilliant plan, he’d done some research of his own. Castiel had spilled a lot of blood but it always belonged to someone bad. Not that it justified murder, but Dean felt a lot more comfortable with the idea that Cas was some kind of vigilante protecting the innocent than a killer of good men. The discovery only served to strengthen his sense of rightness, that whatever the other man was doing he should support one hundred percent. 

He’d spent no more than two nights in evidence when he heard it. Or, more accurately, when he didn’t hear anything. Dean had grown used to the sounds of the night shifters opening and closing drawers, shoes clinking on the floor, the murmur of chatter behind the door. But not tonight, tonight it was so quiet it was almost deafening. 

It was probably only a few minutes but it felt like hours as he sat, body tense and nervous, clutching the gun to his chest. When the doorknob started turning, he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This was it, all other thoughts stop as his mind focused on the slow turn of the knob, the creaking sound of the door being pushed open. His temples throbbed, hands growing clammy around the cool metal of the gun. Everything was in slow motion as the door finally swung open.

Standing in the center of the frame was Castiel and man, did he look good. Absently, he noticed that the man looked more exhausted than usual, his suit slightly more rumpled, hair an absolute disaster. It made Dean want to smile. Behind him, he could see a number of officers face down at their desks. They looked alive, like they’d all just spontaneously decided to fall asleep. Cas made a startled sound, drawing his attention back to the surprised looking man in front of him.

“Hey Cas.” He said as casually as possible.

“Hello, Dean.” The man replied automatically, taking a step into the room and letting the door close behind them. It was dark in the room, there was only one small dim light hanging from the ceiling. 

He smiled. “I was wondering when you’d show up.” 

“You think you’re going to stop me from taking what’s mine?” Castiel growled, the shadows on his face making the words sound ever more threatening. 

“No,” he said, standing up to close the distance between them. “I wanted to deliver it in person. We had a deal, after all.” He smirked, inches away from the other man.

Cas looked genuinely shocked for a moment but schooled his face quickly, making it as cold and emotionless as ever. Dean wondered if that was how he dealt with emotional situations, by just shutting down. “You said you never wished to see me again.” 

“Yeah, well. I say a lot of stupid shit. That’s why I need you around, keep me in line.” At that Castiel smiled, it was small and genuine and one of the first times he’d ever seen the other man smile without smirking. 

“But you still want me to divulge things that I cannot.” He said mournfully, turning his head to look at the ground.

“Yeah. But, look Cas.” Dean ran his hand along the curve of Castiel’s jaw, tangling his fingers in the soft hair behind his ear. He looked up, confused frown already in place. “Trust goes both ways. I can’t expect you to trust me if I don’t, you know, reciprocate.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What I’m trying to say is, well, I trust you Cas. So, I’ve got your back.”

Castiel stood there looking at him, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Feeling emboldened, Dean took a step closer, pressing their bodies together. The other man’s head titled, and Dean tried not to feel smug that it was toward his hand, not away. Cas scanned his body, eyes hungry and wanting, like he was desperately trying not to throw Dean to the floor and take him right here. 

His hand was sweating as he nervously clutched the gun between their bodies; so close he could feel the man’s breath, his body heat. “So, what are you waiting for,” he breathed leaning as far into Castiel’s personal space as possible without kissing him. Cas licked his lips, eyes darting down to Dean’s then back up again. “Why don’t you just take what’s yours?”

Cas let out a breath of air, face as stony as ever, and Dean wondered for a moment whether he’d crossed some kind of line. Slowly the man Castiel raised his hand and wrapped his fingers tightly over Dean’s on the gun, using both their hands to set the gun down gently on a shelf. 

“That’s what you want? For me to just take?” Cas growled quietly, wrapping his hand around Dean’s wrist. The look on his face was that same terrifying wrath-of-heaven look Dean had seen him give Balthazar and having the full force of it turned on him made his knees buckle. “I don’t like indecisiveness. Do not say things you don’t mean.”

“I mean it, Cas. I—I want this, want you to take me.” Dean whimpered in Castiel’s grip.

“How do I know you won’t change your mind later?”

“Won’t, promise. W-want to be good for you, made for it.”

Castiel’s head cocked to the side again and his eyes raked over Dean like he was contemplating. “Do you want to please me, Dean?”

It took a second to mentally calm himself down and muster the courage to lean forward and press their lips together. It was a big chance—either Cas would be disgusted by his forwardness or turned on by it. His lips were soft and warm and surprisingly they opened almost immediately, allowing Dean to lick into his mouth. The fingers around his wrist tightened briefly but other than that, the man didn’t do anything else. He just kept them both steady while Dean’s tongue-fucked him.

He eventually pulled back, noticing that Castiel’s eyes were nearly black the pupils were so dilated. “I—I want to please you. Tell me how, Cas, direct me.” He said as desperately as possible, eyes wide and innocent as he leaned in to peck small needy kisses up the other man’s neck. A small strangled sound escaped Cas but that was it, the only indication that he was enjoying this.

Dean pulled back to kiss his lips again, free hand sliding down and into the man’s suit jacket, fingers brushing his nipples. That’s when Cas finally snapped. He grabbed Dean, fingers digging into his thighs as he hoisted him up and slammed his back into the door. “This what you want,” Cas panted when he finally broke away from the kiss, a trail of saliva keeping their lips connected, “for me to claim your mouth? Claim your body?”

“Yes,” he gasped as Cas pressed their bodies together, trapping his erection between them. Dean rocked forward, grinding the hard line of his cock against the other man’s torso. “Make me yours, p-p-please! Want to be your good boy again!” Dean shouted as Cas sucked a bruise onto his neck, aligning their hips before thrusting in time with his tongue. 

“Oh baby,” Cas eventually managed to gasp as he pulled Dean away from the wall to deposit him gently on the floor. “You’ve always been my good boy, gorgeous.” Cas tore the shirt off of him, buttons flying everywhere, and immediately began ravening his body with wet slopping kisses—biting the sensitive skin until he was covered with bruises and tiny jaw shaped welts. He moaned at the realization that Cas was marking him, covering his body in indisputable evidence that he belonged to Castiel, that his body was claimed.

His hot, wet mouth trailed down, down, down, until he reached the waistband of Dean’s pants, nearly making him choke when he started undoing the belt with his mouth. There was no way this was really happening—Castiel’s dark eyes were glued to his, staring intently as his tongue pushed the button through the tiny loop and his teeth pulled the zipper down so slowly it made him want to cry. 

Oh fuck, he thought, is Cas actually about to blow—any coherent thought went flying out of his head the second the other man managed to successfully remove his pants. The minute they were off, he was back, breathing hotly over Dean’s erection.

“Hands above your head—move them and I stop, understood?”

Dean nodded dumbly, the sight of Castiel so close to his cock robbing him of the power of speech. 

“Good. You don’t come until I say you can, okay baby?” He purred, trailing a hand reverently across Dean’s chest.

Again he nodded like an idiot, eyes going wide as Cas’ tongue licked a wet stripe from the root to the head of his dick. The sound he made as that experienced tongue swirled around the head, fingers pressing against the thick vein along the shaft, was inhuman. The man smiled mischievously. “God, I love how much you want me. How desperate and needy you get after only a few touches.” 

As if on queue, his cock started leaking, and he flushed with embarrassment. Cas was right—he was desperate, always been desperate for the man’s touches, his attention. 

“Already so wet for me—fuck, baby.” He said, running his thumb over the slit to gather up the droplets of precome, popping the finger in his mouth to suck off the warm salty liquid. Castiel moaned at the taste, the image doing nothing to lessen his arousal.

Cas didn’t leave him a second to process what was happening before he was swallowing Dean down, burying his nose in the thick thatch of pubic hair. Dean’s fingers dug into a box somewhere behind his head, biting his lip to hold back a shriek.

“No.” Cas snarled, “Those sounds belong to me; want to hear every one of your sweet little moans. Want to know how much you want me.” Before he knew it Cas was taking the full length of his cock back into his mouth and sucking like his life depended on it. This time Dean let the sounds fall freely from his lips as he focused his energy on not snapping his hip forward, arms straining with the effort of keeping them in place. 

When he’d let himself imagine this, he’d always assumed Cas would be pretty inexperienced. He seemed like the time of guy that had, despite getting a lot of blowjobs, spent relatively little time actually sucking dick. But holy hell had he been wrong—Cas sucked him like a pro, hallowing out his cheeks, massaging the head with his lips, sliding Dean’s cock down his throat like it was nothing. Hell, Cas wasn’t even using his hands! One of them was busy gently pulling on his balls and the other was pinching his nipple. 

Their eyes met and Cas smirked around his cock, pretty plush lips stretched so obscenely wide. Then the hand on his nipple started sliding up further until his fingers were pressing against his lips in a silent command. Obediently, Dean opened his mouth and sucked the fingers him, moaning around them at the same time that Cas moaned around his cock. He sucked the man’s fingers until they were good and wet and then Cas pulled them out with a wet pop, dragging them across Dean’s chest.

It took him until Cas was moving his wet hand past Dean’s balls to figure out what he was doing, shutting his eyes and groaning at the sensation of Cas’ fingers circling his hole. Dimly he wondered why his co-workers weren’t waking up, considering how loud they were being, and how long they’d even be asleep for. But any thought outside of the pleasure he was getting from that mouth stopped the moment the first finger pushed inside his body.

Cas didn’t waste any time, finding his prostate and massaging in time the slick slide of his lips along Dean’s shaft. Immediately he could feel his orgasm building in his stomach and only barely managed to get out a broken, “Please, n-need to—uh—please.”

Much to his dismay Cas pulled his mouth off long enough to say, “Not yet,” never once stopping the finger from pumping in and out of Dean. He promptly started sucking again, not letting up even a bit and Dean had to shut his eyes and grit his teeth together to stop himself from coming right there.

By the time Cas slid the second finger inside Dean’s whole body was trembling with the effort of holding his orgasm back. He kept begging and begging but Cas never stopped or slowed down. The third finger pushed inside and that was it—if Cas didn’t stop, like, now, he was going to come. “Cas, gonna—” he gasped.

Rather than letting him come, Castiel pulled off his dick again, fingers still working him. “So beautiful, Dean. You’ve held on so long. Fuck, I bet you’re going to taste as good as you look.”

“Cas, I—I can’t.” He was crying now, the pressure building up in his body to the point where it actually hurt not to come.

“I know, I know, baby. Almost time, I promise. Just want you to hold on a bit longer and then you can come.” Mercifully, he moved his fingers away from Dean’s prostate although he didn’t stop moving them in and out of his body, letting them catch on his rim every time. It was still too much and he whined again, squirming slightly under the man’s attention. “Gorgeous,” Cas breathed, “and all mine.”

“Y-yours.”

Cas smiled indulgently and brought his lips back to Dean’s oversensitive cock, trailing kisses up and down for a second before breathing, “Come for baby boy,” and taking him all the way back into his throat at the same time that his finger struck his prostate again. Dean shouted, head smashing back against the concrete floor as Cas ripped his orgasm from his body.

He was gasping and choking on air as tears streamed down his face, tired body sagging against the floor. Cas swallowed every drop, then sat up on his haunches and deftly freed his own leaking cock from his pants. With one hand on Dean’s chest, he held himself up right while the other wrapped tightly around his dick. Through blurry eyes Dean watched Castiel jerk himself off quickly and efficiently, hand sliding up and down the thick length. It only took another minute or so before he was coming in hot wet ropes across Dean’s chest. 

He heard himself groan, eyes slipping shut. The next thing he knew Castiel’s lips on his, when he parted them to let Cas in his mouth filled with salty, bitter come. It was too much, the moan that came out sounded like a wounded animal as Cas fed him his come.

They both lay on the cool floor for a few minutes after that, Cas absently tracing patterns across his chest as they both tried to will their bodies to stay awake. This was definitely not the place to fall asleep together, more or less naked. It was cold in the room now that the heat from their bodies was leaving them and the sweat had cooled across their skin. 

Eventually Cas stood, pulling Dean’s clothes back on for him, laughing a little at the ruined shirt. “Get up, baby. It’s time to go.” He said, voice fucked out and rougher than usual.

“Why?” He mumbled sleepily, trying to pull Cas back down even as the other man forced him to stand.

“We have to go before everyone wakes up.”

“You drugged them?” He guessed.

“Yes.”

He laughed a strange over-exhausted kind of laugh. “Well, go then.” He smiled, “I’m gonna stay here a bit longer, I think.”

“No,” Castiel said, grabbing the gun from the shelf. “You’re coming with me.”

“Where?” He felt awake all of a sudden—mind clear but confused. 

“Gabriel’s.”

“What? Why?”

He smirked at Dean, reaching out to lace their fingers together. “You still want to know what’s going on, don’t you?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gripped his cock and Castiel shut his eyes with the pleasure of it. Before his brain could even process what was happening, Dean was positioning himself above Castiel’s dick and slowly pushing the head inside him. As he sunk down on Castiel, he murmured, “You’re so—uh, strong,” he gasped as he bottomed out, “p-powerful” he moaned, rocking his hips slightly, “and good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I finally updated! I'm so sorry this took such a long time (ugh, school and work) but I made sure the chapter was extra long, so that totally makes up for it probably maybe hopefully!

Outside was cold and sobering, a welcome relief from the heady fog of sweat and sex saturating the evidence room, clouding his rational faculties. This was, in all honesty, possibly the worst and most reckless idea he’d ever actually acted upon—but lost in the swell of endorphins it had actually managed to seem like a good one. Now, with the benefit of wind-chilled clarity, it was so painfully obvious how close his actions were to ruining the whole plan. 

Castiel’s hand tightened minutely on the cool metal of the colt, thumb brushing against the engraving as he tried to focus on getting as far from the police station as possible. It was useless, though; his mind kept tripping over the danger, the risk, the stupidity of choosing this. What made it worse was the knowledge that there was absolutely no practical or strategic reason for bringing Dean along. He was risking everything, everyone for some pretty little distraction. 

This was so wrong, he should have walked away and remained firm in his resolve to avoid the detective. A small treacherous part of his brain whispered, my detective, but he quickly banished the thought. Chewing his lip, Castiel tried to suppress all of the emotions warring inside him—a leader, a solider, wasn’t supposed to want selfishly or act on impulsive but once the crime was committed he certainly couldn’t afford to regret. 

Beside him, Dean’s body was a furnace that radiated a warmth he craved, wanted so desperately to crawl inside of, to give in to, to accept the comfort and solace it promised. Every few steps their fingers would brush together, a brief contact proved to be almost as distressing as it was reassuring. Maybe if he could just feel the solid weight of their fingers entwined together, he could assuage some of this guilt, this worry. Maybe, if they were together—

No, he thought firmly, shaking his to clear away this dangerous line of thought. It wouldn’t do to forget that Dean was a liability, a threat to their cause. The potential consequences of his actions were to be acknowledged and provisioned for, it was important that he not fall prey to that man’s—his—his wiles. This was a bad idea and that was a fact that couldn’t be forgotten. Still, the lingering weight of Dean’s lips made his skin feel feverish, mind looping with I trust you Cas and make me yours until he felt dizzy and breathless.

“Uh, Cas?” The sound barely registered and it wasn’t until Dean repeated himself louder, more firmly, that Castiel looked over at him. God damn was he beautiful, so sweet and doe-eyed and begging to be corrupted. “Man,” he coughed nervously, “my car is back—” 

“We’re not taking your car.” He said absently, waving off the detective’s concerns.

“But—” Dean started, words dying on his tongue under the force of Castiel’s tired glare.

“Do you want to be apart of this?” He demanded, frustrated that they weren’t back at the car yet. 

“Y-yes.” Dean stuttered, betraying a fearfulness that calmed something in him. Suddenly, the idea that this man could hold any power over Castiel seemed so laughably ridiculous. Dean knew his place, could be—wanted to be—controlled. His temporary lack of control wouldn’t be his ruin, not when Dean was so willing to subordinate himself, so desperate to please. 

“Then you’ll be quiet and do what I say.” He said sharply.

“Cas—”

“Dean. I can’t afford to let anyone question my directions. If you want to be apart of this, then you will obey me wholly. I will not tolerate any less.” His speech was a little heavy handed but he needed to test the other man’s obedience. The thought of such a total submission sent shivers down his spine and he had to fight for control over his expression, not wanting to betray his excitement. 

“Okay.” Dean ceded, looking at Castiel with such an earnest eagerness that his body felt like it had been set on fire—every inch of him itching to wrap that beautiful man up in his arms, to pepper kisses across that willing face, whisper exaltations into every inch of freckled skin. It was impossible how lucky he was to have found such treasure, Dean was willing to give him so much, give him everything. 

“Good boy,” he purred and stepped closer to run fingers through the detective’s hair, nails scraping gently along his scalp. Dean made a quiet pleased sound and leaned into the touch. Castiel was overcome with a sense of awe, amazed and excited by the trust Dean was willing to give him. “I’ll arrange to have your car moved.” He whispered softly, “I’ll take care of it, of everything.”

“Okay, Cas.” He mumbled tiredly, eyes slipping closed to indulge in the soft touches. Castiel could have stood there all night petting him, lavishing his body with tender caresses, but this was neither the place nor the time. 

Without wasting another second, he pulled away and began marching back down the quiet alleyway, ignoring the ache to reach back and hold Dean’s hand. Such casual intimacy was nothing more than weakness, and if Balthazar were to see, well, he’d hardly hear the end of it. Later, he vowed, later when they were alone he would wrap his arms tightly around Dean’s body and indulgence in their closeness.

Now, however, he had to steel himself as they rounded the corner and his Lincoln came into view. Balthazar had the window rolled down and even from this distance Castiel could see him smirking around a cigarette.

He whistled wolfishly before calling out, “Cassie, baby, I think you might’ve picked up a stray.” 

“I told you not to smoke in my car.” Castiel grumbled, purposefully ignoring the comment as he stopped a few inches from the window. 

Balthazar shrugged, eyes glancing around Castiel to focus on Dean. He raised an eyebrow in question, flicking the cigarette to the ground. “Are we going to talk about your lost little lamb?”

Dean growled behind him, “You better watch it chuckles ‘cause I—”

Castiel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. The longer the bickered like this, the more vulnerable they become. Back at the station, the officers would likely be waking up now and out for blood. 

“Dean, enough. Get in the back.” He said calmly, moving to open the back door. The click of Dean’s jaw snapping shut was audible, the displeasure at taking Balthazar’s insults clear, but he obeyed all the same.

“My, my, my, but how the little lamb is well trained! What other tricks can he do?” Balthazar leered, eyes trailing the length of Dean’s body.

The look was too much—he was overcome with a sense of jealous, of possessiveness. “Apologize.” Castiel snapped, wrenching open the front door with a little more force that necessary. 

“What?” Balthazar balked, reluctantly sliding over to the passenger’s seat. 

“Apologize, Balthazar.” Castiel replied coolly as he started to drive, refusing to look at either of them.

“Darling, you’re not serious.” Castiel simply glared, hard and unkind, entreating his friend to behave. They exchanged heated looks for a minute before Balthazar finally sighed and, rolling his eyes, muttered a halfhearted apology. 

From the back seat Dean smirked, “Guess I’m not the only one s’well trained.”

“Dean.” He warned but couldn’t keep the small grin from his own face. 

The car settled into a sort of tense, uneasy silence and it was clear that Balthazar was trying to stop himself from saying something. They’d only been driving for ten minutes when Dean finally fell asleep, cheek pressed against the window and warm breath causing condensation to form on the glass. Castiel had to stop himself from sighing. Dean was so beautiful like that—still flushed from earlier, eyelashes splayed over freckled cheeks, lips relaxed and parted. It was nearly impossible to keep his eyes trained on the road, to pull his gaze away from the sweet man resting in the back seat. 

“Speak, Balthazar.” He sighed, unable to handle the oppressive quiet a moment longer. 

“I’m just wondering if we’ve become a home for wayward lambs. Or, are we only letting the pretty ones into our business—”

“That isn’t what—”

“—and how pretty do they have to be before I’m allowed to risk all of my friend’s lives?”

“You think I’m not aware of the dangers?” He snapped, eyes darting back to make sure Dean was still completely asleep. When he spoke again his voice was a harsh whisper, “That I didn’t consider the consequences for everyone?”

“Honestly, Cassie, I think this man is more dangerous than you understand.”

“Dean is on our side, I trust him.”

“That’s the bloody point! You’re smitten; he’s corrupted your thoughts. When was the last time you trusted anybody?”

“You don’t trust my judgment? After everything, this you doubt?”

“Yes.” Castiel was shocked, and searched his friend’s eyes for any sign of humor. For years Balthazar had followed him into anything, fought by his side without reservation, but now his gaze was serious, voice concerned. “Cassie,” he said gently, “you’re in love and I’m worried it’s clouding your judgment. We’ve worked too hard, you’ve worked too hard, to let some man ruin everything.”

“I’m not in love with Dean. That’s not what this is, Balth.” He mumbled, eyes flicking back to the man sleeping peacefully in the backseat. The image made his heart swell inconveniently, like it was trying to prove the truth in Balthazar’s words. 

“What is it, then? Explain it to me, because I don’t understand how to make sense of your carelessness otherwise.”

“It’s just sex.” Castiel said quietly, trying to sound self-assured. He didn’t love Dean, that wasn’t something he did with people—love them. It wasn’t in his DNA to care about others like that. 

“Then why is he here?”

“Dean could be useful.” He offered weakly, refusing to acknowledge the part of him that filled with giddiness at the mention of loving Dean. 

“We already have an inside man. Two is a crowd and you know that.”

Castiel made a frustrated noise, fixing his eyes on the road in front of them. The tense silence returned, the air charged with accusations. After a few minutes, he managed to whisper, “I want him to know me.” Speaking the words out loud made him feel small and vulnerable, the truth of them overwhelming. 

Balthazar exhaled, shaking his head disbelievingly. “He must give one hell of a blow job.”

“Balthazar!” Castiel shouted, scandalized as his friend dissolved into laughter. Dean grunted from the back, shifting restlessly in his sleep. 

The tension had eased a little and when the silence returned it was much more pleasant, almost soothing. His mind wandered to the peculiarity of his actions—of the evidence room, of the stretch of his lips around Dean, how he swallowed the man’s release without a second thought. It was strange, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d willingly pleasured a man like that, since he’d been so willing to give another person so much. 

Maybe, he found himself thinking reluctantly, there was some truth in Balthazar’s suggestion. There was no other person that he esteemed quite so much as Dean, certainly no one he could be said to trust. When Dean had told him to go, Castiel felt like his world was lost. He’d soldiered on because that was his duty but a part of him was loath to return to a life without the detective. To see him again, standing in the evidence room—nothing had ever brought him more joy. 

Nobody spoke until they pulled into Gabriel’s driveway. “I know what I’m doing,” he said as sternly as he could manage.

“I really hope you do.” Balthazar said, shaking his head slightly and casting a glance to the man in the back. “If you want the others to take him seriously, though, may I suggest you find him a shirt to wear?”

Castiel flushed, looking back at where Dean’s shirt hung from his shoulders in tatters. He laughed then, rubbing the back of his neck. “I suppose you’re right,” and then after a pause adding, “thank you, Balthazar.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m astonishing. You can stop fawning all over me now, Cassie.” They chuckled warmly for a minute, before slipping out of the car and onto the quiet street. “Now,” Balthazar grinned, “give your pet a coat and let’s get this over with.”

He grimaced at the sleeping man in the backseat, shirt torn to pieces and hanging raggedly from his body. It must be cold, he realized briefly wondering why the man hadn’t mentioned anything. Castiel sighed and shrugged off his trench coat, then knocked gently on the window. Dean startled awake, blinking sleepily through the glass. A moment later, the door opened and he wordlessly surrendered the coat. 

“W-where are we?” He shivered, wrapping the coat tightly around his body. 

“Gabriel’s house.”

“This is it? This is your big, secret criminal liar?” Dean motioned to house in disbelief, like he was angry it looked so plain.

Castiel smiled impishly, “You were excepting something more uncanny—perhaps a castle in the woods, gothic and shrouded in darkness?”

“I definitely pictured something a little more Dracula than,” he gestured toward the peaceful suburban street and smiled sheepishly. 

“Ah, of course.” He said, nodding gravely. “I was always much more inclined toward wicked castles but the decision was regrettably vetoed, something about drawing too much attention.”

Dean laughed bashfully, cheeks visibly red even in the dark. “Guess that was kinda stupid, huh?”

“Well,” Balthazar called, interrupting their banter, “you kids coming or not?”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Dean swallow anxiously. “Come, we mustn’t keep the Count waiting.” Castiel teased, slipping their hands together for a moment to give the man a reassuring squeeze. 

As much as he wanted to do more, to hold Dean protectively in his arms, he knew better than to enter the house bearing his emotions so visibly. While Gabriel and Balthazar had spread much gossip over his infatuation with the detective, it was still too intimate to allow just anyone to see. 

The house was warm and filled with sound and he found himself looking upon the familiar walls as though seeing them for the first time. He chuckled quietly again over Dean’s initial reaction and wondered how much stranger the house must seem now from the inside. 

Gabriel had designed everything and so, unsurprisingly, there wasn’t an ounce of seriousness or sense in the décor of any room. The stripped wallpaper of the hallway clashed with the green floral carpeting of the living room, offset by the furniture’s vibrant red upholstery, and candy pink drapery. On the opposite side of the entranceway stood the kitchen, with its mint green cabinets and checkered tiles. Castiel rolled his eyes fondly, realizing how silly this must look to Dean.

By the time they’d arrived it was well past midnight and nearly the entire company of renegade criminals was piled into the living room playing cards, smoking, drinking, and entertaining one another in increasingly illicit ways. 

“Cassie!” Gabriel shouted, nearly dropping his cigar in his enthusiasm. “Did you get it?”

“Did you see detective hottie while you were there?” Anna giggled from the lap of some unknown man in the back. Castiel turned red instantly, but before he had a chance to respond, Balthazar pushed Dean forward. All at once the room went silent.

“Surprise!” Balthazar shouted dryly, throwing an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “Detective hottie is our newest compatriot! Dean, come meet the gang.”

Castiel clear his throat awkwardly, pausing to glare at Balthazar before addressing the room. “Yes, Anna, I did.”

“Cas—” She started, looking worriedly between himself and Dean. 

“Well, well, well! I was wondering when you’d bring your boy ‘round to meet the gang.” Gabriel tossed down his hand of cards and jumped up, making his way through the crowd to stand by Dean. “Cassie here isn’t a big sharer,” he said conspiratorially. “Glad you’re finally ready to share with the group!” 

“Who is this, Castiel?” Inias called from the card table, looking over Dean curiously.

“This is—”

“This is Cassie’s little bitch!” Gabriel pinched Dean’s cheek and Castiel had to dig his nails into the detective’s forearm to stop him from punching his brother. 

“Gabriel.” Castiel snapped. “Can I speak with you and Balthazar, privately.”

Gabriel sighed dramatically but conceded, letting himself be pulled into the kitchen. “So why’s your pet here? I thought you two were fighting.”

“I’m not his pet!” Dean growled, clenching his fists at his sides. Castiel gave him a dangerous look and he reluctantly settled.

“I decided that he would make for a good ally.”

His brother scoffed. “For you maybe, but how do any of us know we can trust him? Besides, we already have an inside man. Two is a crowd.”

Balthazar huffed, “That’s what I told him. But I suppose the damage is done either way, he can’t un-see any of this.”

“Unless we cut out his tongue and gouge his eyes.” Gabriel practically sang, waggling his eyebrows at Dean who in turn gave Castiel a panicked look.

“No one is gouging anything. He can be trusted, I give you my word and anyway the more friends we have in the police department the better.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that, who the hell is working for you at the station?” Dean demanded.

Gabriel, ignoring him completely, cut off any possible response. “Yeah, well, how’s he gonna react when he finds out about his boss?”

“My boss? Bobby is a freakin’ dirty cop?” The panic had returned to Dean’s face as he glanced between the brothers frantically. 

“No,” Castiel said dismissively, “I’m to assassinate him.” He turned back to face Gabriel, “We could have brought that up much more delicately, Gabe.”

“You’re what!” Dean shouted.

Gabriel shrugged, still ignoring Dean. “Cassie, it’s not my job to be delicate with your toys.”

“You ain’t killing Bobby, Cas!” 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “We’ll kill you, if you don’t shut up.” 

Exasperated, Castiel sighed. “If you would all refrain from scaring Dean any further and give me a chance to explain, I would greatly appreciate it.”

“Go ahead boss, we ain’t stopping you.” Gabriel and Balthazar smiled mischievously between them.

“Cas,” Dean said unsurely, looking more and more like he’d made the biggest mistake of his life coming here. The look made Castiel’s heart hurt, this wasn’t how he’d envisioned everything happening, he didn’t want Dean to think they were frightening or evil. It was strange how much he cared what this man thought of his lifestyle, of his friends and family.

“Why don’t you sit,” he gestured to the table and Dean took an uneasy seat. “You too.” He commanded the others, not taking his eyes from Dean.

“You’re trying to kill Bobby?” Dean’s voice cracked a little.

“I was contracted by Michael to terminate Robert Singer, yes. My guess is that this move is to placate me, considering the role Robert played in my capture.”

“You can’t kill him Cas, Bobby’s like a father to—”

“Enough. I have no intention of killing him.”

“Oh.” Dean paused, thinking. “Then, then what are you gonna do with him?”

“We’re going to make Michael believe he’s been terminated—to ‘fake his death’.” He said, using air quotes over the colloquialism. 

“Bobby’s never gonna go along with you guys, so how you plannin’ on making that work?” Dean scoffed.

“That is one difficulty, yes.”

“We could just kidnap the guy?” Gabriel suggested.

“No—this needs to be a visible death. Otherwise when you and Anna are shot, my alibi could be called into question. Michael might even demand I bring him physical evidence of my having fulfilled the contract. We don’t want to incur suspicion.”

“You think he’s really that worried about your loyalties?” Gabriel asked.

Balthazar nodded, “Yeah, I thought you two were chummy. Is he really going to suspect you’re playing him?”

“Wait, you’re gonna shoot him and some chick? Why? What’s going on? Who even are these two chuckleheads?”

“Chuckleheads?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

“I’m wounded.” Balthazar said, clutching at his heart dramatically.

“Yeah chuck—”

“Why’d you even bring this kid along, he doesn’t know anything!” Gabriel, suddenly angry, slammed his fist on the table and stared at Castiel. “Unless he’s here to suck our dicks, then I’m—”

“What did you just say to me?”

“I believe I was talking to your master, pet.”

“How ‘bout you try that—”

“Settle!” Castiel shouted, glaring at all three of them. “Gabriel, Balthazar. Dean is here to help, he wants to help us and I trust that his word is true. Please, we have a number of predicaments that he may be able to solve but we will not know until he is apprised of the full situation. Will you let me proceed in explaining or do you insist on interrupting me every other sentence?”

Gabriel sighed dramatically, “Go on then, don’t wanna be here all night.”

“Anyone for a drink?” Balthazar smiled politely at Dean, “would the little lamb prefer a cup or a bowl?” Dean snarled but held his tongue as Gabriel snickered and kicked Balthazar away. A moment later he returned with a bottle of whiskey, three cups, and a small bowl. 

“Dean.” Castiel looked at him seriously, trying to convey his many apologies without having to speak them allowed. “Where would you like me to begin?”

“Why did you need that colt from lockup?”

Castiel nodded, he’d assumed this would be the first question, considering how hurt Dean had been the last time the subject was broached. He took a steadying breath, suddenly weary of exposing their plans. “I said before that it was to cause unrest. This is true. The gun belongs to Michael, a treasured family heirloom. I stole it and had myself arrested the very same day to give myself an alibi.”

“How is stealing an heirloom gonna cause unrest? Why would you even wanna make your boss angry?”

Gabriel snorted but Castiel only glared at him. “Michael is under the impression that the colt was taken by his brother, Lucifer. As for why I’d like to cause Michael’s suspicion of his brother, it’s simple.” He paused, looking at Dean sternly. “I want to see them burn.” 

There was a long pregnant pause in the room and he realized belatedly that it was the grave force behind his own words that seemed to stop all motion and sound. Finally, after what felt like minutes, Dean looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Jeez, Cas. Tell us how you really feel.” He muttered.

Then Gabriel was laughing—a real gasping sort of laughter that just shattered all the tension. “Gabriel,” he warned but the harshness was lost in an involuntarily smile.

“Cassie may not seem it,” he gasped, wiping a tear from his eye, “but he really has a flare for the dramatic. Kid’s all gravitas and doom, always was.”

“I’m not being overly dramatic, Gabriel. I’m being frank.”

“Oh, because, I want to see them burn” Gabriel said, in an exaggerated mockery of Castiel’s voice that made Dean snort, “isn’t melodramatic at all.” 

Balthazar laughed, clapping Dean on the back. “It’s his love of poetry, really. Encourages all of this flowery excitement in him.” 

“I simply wanted to convey how import—”

“Yeah, yeah, Cassie. Look, Deano. Michael is one bad son of a bitch and Lucifer makes Mikey look like an angel. I think you probably already knew that.” Gabriel said seriously.

“Yeah, I mean, we know they’re both top-dogs—controlling basically all the crime in the east and west, but we’ve never been able to pin them with anything. Always use grunts to do their dirty work so it’s impossible to catch ‘em with so much as a parking ticket.” 

“Well, these grunts are tired of putting our asses on the line for a coupla jerks like them. I don’t wanna kill, or rob, or anything. I wanna open up a candy shop, ‘kay kid? That’s it.”

“So how’d you even get involved with them in the first place?” Dean asked incredulously, clearly not believing Gabriel. 

“Gabriel, Anna, and I were sold to Michael’s father as infants. Our parents owed him a debt and we satisfied the contract.”

“Cassie here was dad’s favorite, the man wanted to give him everything—the whole damn empire.”

“Charles was a good man—” Castiel began, Dean cutting him off before he could finish the thought.

“Charles? You mean Chuck, as in The Prophet Chuck, kingpin of crime?”

“You got it, lamb.” Balthazar gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Chuck raised you? Guy could practically predict every move the police ever made; no one even knew what the guy looked like. You tryna tell me The Prophet was some kinda paragon of virtue?”

“Charles was a good man, Dean. He’d inherited an empire from his father and tried his best to impose order and structure onto the chaos of random crime. He greatly reduced the number of murders, of petty—”

“Basically Cassie thinks dad was a saint.” Castiel glared at his brother. “Don’t get me wrong, he was much better than his sons.”

“Charles often told me that his goal was to limit their influence on the world, to one day be in complete control of the state’s crime so as to limit its reach.”

“Good old dad, ever the idealist.” 

“Lemme guess, Mike and Luci didn’t exactly see eye to eye with the old man?” Dean asked.

“No.”

Gabriel poured another round of drinks. “Hence he wanted to leave everything to Cassie.”

“Michael and Lucifer plotted against him, however, and eventually succeeded in overcoming him. They split the empire in two and each took over a section. Though, they never fully trusted one another—”

“Once a backstabbing a-hole always a backstabbing a-hole, I guess.” Gabriel shrugged.

“Precisely. We intend to exploit that weakness.”

“So you can become the new ring leader? Sorry, Cas, but I don’t feel comfortable—”

“No. I wish nothing more than to end this. I’ve been at war my whole life, Dean. I’m tired.” 

“Okay, so you end it. How? How does making Michael suspicious of Lucifer take down a freakin’ criminal empire?”

“It—”

“Wait, Alastair!” Dean interrupted with such an excitement the whole room looked surprised. “You gutted his men and left him barely alive.”

Castiel grimaced. “Dean,” he began, not sure what to say.

“But that isn’t your style, you’ve never done that before. I thought I recognized it though, thought I’d seen it before—something vicious, nearly animalistic in its brutality.”

“Uriel.” All three of them spoke at the same time, nodding as Dean continued. “Uriel isn’t part of this, is he? He’s loyal to Michael—”

“Michael’s most trusted confidant, actually.” Balthazar supplied.

“And Lucifer knows that, doesn’t he?” Castiel nodded. “Just like I’m sure he knows exactly the type of killer Uriel is.”

“He does.” It was hard to resist smiling as Dean figured out their plan on his own. He was strangely proud of the man, wanted nothing more than to kiss every inch of him. 

“So you make him think Michael is making a statement and you make Mike think Lucifer is the one tryna mess with him.” He paused, thinking. “Then you pretend to kill Gabriel and Anna because they’re close to Michael? I don’t get it.”

“Michael considers us very dear to him, yes. Lucifer never cared much, anyway. But Gabriel and Anna are also very dear to me and so if they were to die, especially while I was fulfilling a contractual obligation to kill Robert Singer, Michael absolutely wouldn’t suspect me.”

“Bonus, he’s likely going to want Cassie here to be even closer.” Balthazar said, offering to pour Dean another drink. The gesture made a strange sensation spread out through Castiel’s body, elated that his family was already warming up to the man.

“Exactly.” He said, “I’ll be privy to all future plans concerning Lucifer and likely have influence in Michael’s decisions.”

“What’s to stop Michael from brushing this off as random violence? Not that I’d be surprised if Lucifer had a vendetta against you, but I don’t really understand how—”

“They will have been shot with his gun.” Castiel said firmly.

Dean nodded in understand. “And when Lucifer starts acting all sketchy thinking Michael’s gone and killed his favorite henchman, Alastair—”

“Michael’s suspicions will grow, that is the intended outcome.” 

“But,” Gabriel interrupted, taking a swig of whiskey, “we still gotta figure out how we’re gonna convince Bobwhatshisface to pretend to die. Not to mention the whole issue of faking our deaths convincingly enough to fool big tall and holy.”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose—this was precisely the problem. They had to make it look real enough that the police department and the news reporters would believe it. Which was likely impossible given that—

“I think I know how to solve your problems.” Dean said, sounding unsure and smiling shyly.

“Dean?”

“Um, well, my brother Sam, he’s—Bobby’s like a dad to us. Guy practically raised us.”

“Your point?”

“Sam could, you know, keep him away from all this. We could get Bobby to go into hiding or something and mess up his apartment to look like a struggle.”

“Oh hell no!” Gabriel shouted, adamantly shaking his head. “Not happening. Look, you’re already on thin ice with me bucko, I ain’t looking to welcome anyone else I don’t know with open arms.”

“But—” Dean started but Gabriel cut him off.

“No. I’m only letting you sit there because Cassie thinks you’re a good little boy.” He turned to address Castiel, “Have you even met the brother? You really gonna vouch for another potential threat?”

The face he made must have betrayed his thought process more than he was aware because Dean was giving him an angry, disbelieving look. He sighed, “He has have a point, Dean.” 

“Sammy’s good people, Cas.”

“It would be irresponsible to blindly trust anyone, regardless of your relation. You have to understand how important this is and Gabriel is right, I’ve already put them at risk simply by inviting you here.”

“Exactly.” Balthazar confirmed. “We’re not even warm to your presence, we don’t need another lost lamb—” 

“Hey!”

“Why don’t we just send your pet to occupy his wannabe daddy? Why do we even need the brother?”

“Because I’m gonna be your inside man. Look, if you let me help you—”

“Deano, we appreciate that you want to please Cassie and all but—”

“Sammy already knows anyway and I’m more useful—”

Castiel’s face fell and he titled his head, trying to make sense of what Dean had just said. “That would be impossible. You didn’t know our plans until this minute.”

Dean flushed, the sight sweet enough to distract him from the task at hand, he couldn’t help but feel warm all over at the sight of those red cheeks. “We sorta, I mean he, he kinda figured it out. He’s the one who convinced me to trust you after, um, after we fought.”

“You told your brother about me?” Castiel felt his own skin color and he coughed to cover up the sudden awkwardness, not sure why the thought of Dean telling Sam about him made him feel so embarrassed, so excited.

“Um, well. I got kinda pretty smashed after you left. Ended up spillin’ my guts to Sam.”

“Oh.” After you told me to go, he thought but didn’t add. 

“Oh great, another jackass we don’t know gets a warm welcome to the brotherhood. And your boytoy’s already betrayed our confidence! That’s peachy! Isn’t that peachy Balthazar?” 

“Gabriel,” Castiel warned, cutting off any possible remarks Balthazar could have made on the subject. 

“Cassie,” he sighed resignedly, “I’ve followed you this far, I’m not giving up on you now. But do you really think this idiot can help us? Because from where I’m sitting, he’s just a pretty face and a set of holes.”

“Maybe we should continue this conversation tomorrow,” Balthazar interjected, mercifully stopping a fight from breaking out, “after everyone’s had a chance to sleep.” 

Castiel smiled slightly at him, hoping to convey his gratitude. “I think that perhaps Balthazar is right. We’re not going to get anywhere tonight. Tomorrow we can reconvene and Dean will enumerate his suggestions.” Castiel stood, motioning for Dean to do the same. “I hope that we will all be a little more patient and open minded after some rest.”

Gabriel exhaled tiredly. “Don’t let your bitch keep you up much later, we need you clear tomorrow morning.”

“Goodnight little lamb,” Balthazar winked as Castiel and Dean made their way out of the kitchen. He was so intent on making it to the bedroom before Dean attempted to discuss Gabriel’s continued rudeness that they both nearly ran over Anna, waiting for them at the bottom of the staircase. 

“Don’t mind Gabe,” she smiled sympathetically at Dean, “he’s never really been one for hospitality. It’s nice to see you again, Dean, and under much pleasanter circumstances.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” 

Anna turned then, pulling Castiel in close enough that she could whisper. “I’m glad you decided to trust him, little brother. You’ve spent far too much time alone.” 

He only barely managed to nod before turning around quickly and muttering, “Goodnight, Anna,” as he rushed up the stairs. It wasn’t his intention to be rude but the blush her words had provoked was not something he wished Dean to see. 

Dean followed closely behind as they walked down a long narrow hall filled with doors, stopping at the farthest from the stairs on the right. Inside, the room was plain—a light blue wallpaper that Gabriel had picked out years ago, long before Castiel had agreed to move into it. Aside from a closet full of clothing, the space had nothing personal inside. The furniture was a dark cherry wood and the bed, while comfortable, was certainly not as luxurious as Dean’s. 

Standing in the room now, he felt strangely self-conscious. This desire to justify the sparseness was ridiculous—Dean knew this wasn’t his real home; the man had already been inside his actual house during the police raid. He’d seen the walls of books, the poetry, the photographs, and even—Castiel smiled in remembrance—the painting of his own freckled face. Still, he was irrationally disappointed that they couldn’t be standing among his own furniture, his belongings, now. 

“You need better friends, Cas.” Dean said, shutting the door behind them, shedding the trench coat that covered his bare chest and coming to stand as close to Castiel’s back as possible without actually pressing their bodies together.

Heat radiated between them making him smile and sag into that firm wall of muscle. Normally he’d never indulge like this but right now he was overcome with need and so, before he could talk himself out of it, turned to wrap arms around Dean’s body. The other man didn’t even hesitate returning the hug, gathering Castiel up tightly. He buried his face in the bare skin of Dean’s shoulder and inhaled. “They’re just weary of you.”

Dean huffed, bringing a hand up to run tentatively through Castiel’s hair. “How come you didn’t tell me Gabriel was your brother?”

He hummed, “It wasn’t pertinent.”

“I feel like I should have asked his permission or something.” Dean mumbled into his hair.

“For what?”

“I don’t know, to, uh, to be with you. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when your boyfriend takes you to meet his family?” He could feel the moment Dean realized what he’d said—his whole body tensed, clearly frightened that he’d ruined their moment perhaps, even, that he’d angered Castiel. 

“Is it?” He said, yawning sleepily and closing his eyes, sinking further into the comfort Dean brought.

There was a small sound, something that might have been a breath of relief, and then one hand was cradling his head securely while the other snaked around his waist. Dean held him like that for a moment, their bodies pressed tightly together. “Yeah,” he breathed, “but I guess it’s a little late for that anyway.”

Castiel yawned again and pulled away, “They’ll come around.” He was far enough away to look Dean in the eyes but not far enough to leave the warm circle of his arms. This intimacy wasn’t something he should allow but after being away from the man for so many days, after the hollow ache that accompanied their parting, Castiel found himself wanting to cling pathetically to him. “You can kiss me. If you want.” He murmured, leaning in again.

“Yeah,” Dean breathed, a hand coming up to cup Castiel’s jaw, “I think I’d like that.”

The kiss was soft and tender—the slide of their tongues more comforting than the purposeful kisses he was used to. This was something that made him want to melt into Dean rather than tear off his clothing. As the kiss deepened, he felt like he could get lost in it forever, get lost in the feeling of Dean wrapped around him, the smell of leather and gun powder, the addictive taste of his mouth.

Finally he pulled away, too tired to take this any further and more than a little desperate to get in bed and press up against all that naked muscle. “The bathroom is through that door,” he gestured to the small door at the far end of the room. “Leave your clothes in the garbage, for the maid.”

Dean chuckled awkwardly, “What am I gonna wear?”

Castiel hummed as he trailed hands down his chest, brushing fingers across his nipples and making Dean shiver. “Nothing.”

Dean shifted nervously and Castiel looked up from where he’d been watching the small bud harden under his fingers. “I meant tomorrow. I, uh, don’t exactly have any clothes here.”

He quirked an eyebrow and returned his attentions to the man’s nipples, pinching them just enough to make Dean whimper. “Who said I wasn’t talk about tomorrow?”

“Cas,”

“If I told you to stay naked tomorrow, would you do it?”

Dean gave him a small pleading look but nodded faintly all the same.

“And if I decided to take you in front of them?” Castiel’s hand dragged down, unfastening the other man’s pants and letting them pool at his ankles. “Bend you over,” he slipped a hand in the waistband of Dean’s briefs and pulled the down to expose his hard, flushed cock, “and claim you in front of everyone.” He ghosted a finger along the man’s shaft, savoring the involuntary sounds his touches could illicit. “You would let me,” his grip tightened, jerking him slowly, “wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes, Cas, I’d let you. Let you do anything.” He stuttered, legs wobbling slightly as his body thrust into each stroke.

“Good.” Castiel said, abruptly letting go to cover another yawn. He walked toward the bathroom, brushing his teeth quickly while staring at Dean through the mirror, who remained standing awkwardly in the middle of the room concentrating on not touching himself. The sight made him a giddy kind of laughter bubble up, thrilled by the man’s obedience, his willingness to deny pleasure without needing to be told. 

Castiel smiled sweetly as he walked back into the bedroom, kissing his perfect boy on the cheek before shucking his clothes and hopping into bed. “Prep yourself in the washroom, after you brush your teeth. Use the lotion on the counter.” 

Dean practically skipped the few feet to the sink, making as quick work of his teeth as possible. The man’s eagerness was almost adorable, exciting something in Castiel so that when the door started to close, he shook his head. “Door stays open, baby.”

Their eyes locked in the mirror and, without any protest or further instruction, Dean bent over so that his chest was pressed against the cold counter and ass in the air to give Castiel a good view. It was easy to imagine how hard those perky little nipples were getting against the cold granite and, given his unusual sensitivity in that area, Castiel could imagine how much it was increasing his pleasure.

He watched with rapt attention as calloused fingers circled the tight pucker of muscle as Dean teased himself slightly before pressing one slicked finger inside. They moaned together as the digit disappeared right to the knuckle, the sight so beautiful he couldn’t help palm himself in time with Dean’s gently thrusts. 

A minute or so past before the man started fucking back onto his own hand, whining teach time the finger caught on the rim of his hole.

“Another,” Castiel groaned eager to hurry everything along—as nice as it would have been to watch Dean slowly take himself apart, he was tired and wanted to come quickly before passing out. “Don’t touch your cock, baby. That belongs to me,” he chided and, okay, maybe he wasn’t in that much of a hurry.

From the bathroom, Dean made a strangled sound as the second lotion-covered finger stretched his hole wider. His hand thrust frantically, driving the fingers into his body as deep and hard as possible. Even from this distance Castiel could see the muscle clenching tightly on each delicious drag, clearly trying to make himself feel fuller. 

Castiel’s own pace increased with Dean’s, stripping his cock in a frenzy of arousal. When their eyes met again through the mirror he knew this wouldn’t last much longer, the other man was too stimulating—face flushed, hooded lips, slack jaw quivering as he pulled desperate sounds from his own body. They were both teetering on the edge of orgasm; Castiel’s body wrought with pleasure and heat and need.

“Fuck, another. Want to see—” he moaned, cutting himself off as Dean obediently slipped the third finger into his tight, slick hole. The man cried out, body thrusting feverishly between his hand and where his cock was pressing against the counter. Barely a second later, Castiel’s body seized and he was blindsided by his own orgasm. He came all over his stomach and hand, eyes still locked with Dean’s as he mumbled, “Good boy,” before collapsing sated into the pillows. 

“Cas,” Dean pleaded, the slick sound of his frantic movements audible from the bathroom.

He took a deep steadying breath before he was able to speak again. “No.” he said plainly. “That’s all you get tonight. Bring me something to wipe up my mess and then we can go to bed.”

“But, Cas! That’s not fair, you’re being—”

“Dean,” he scolded, “now.”

With one last aching look at his heavy cock, Dean padded back toward the bed with a cloth to wipe up his come. As he worked to wipe it up, Castiel reached a hand up to run through his short brown hair now damp with sweat. Despite his clear distress, Dean leaned into the touch though he refused to meet Castiel’s gaze. “What’s wrong, gorgeous?” He asked, turning the man to face him

“Did I do something wrong?” Dean asked sadly, tears brimming in his eyes.

“Of course not, baby. Come here,” he opened his arms and Dean tossed away the dirty cloth before crawling up against his chest, cock leaking precome where it throbbed against his thigh. Castiel ran a hand soothingly across the man’s back, placing a light kiss to his forehead.

“Then why?” Dean sniveled, hips stuttering forward involuntarily. 

“Because you’re such a good boy, I know you can wait until morning,” he whispered, smiling into his hair. “But if you think I’m wrong, that you’re not my good—”

“I can wait!” Dean snapped, looking worriedly at Castiel for a second before laying his head back down. “I can be good,” he mumbled, blush practically audible as he nuzzled against Castiel’s chest. 

“I know, baby,” he squeezed the man tightly, “I know.”

“You’re a jerk, though.” Dean said so quietly he almost couldn’t make out the words, then rolled his hips pointedly against Castiel’s thigh a few more times until he was able to settle properly.

Castiel chuckled, closing his eyes and letting himself bask in the warm sturdiness of the other man’s body. Silence overcame them and soon, the happy atmosphere was fading to a chorus of their fight. The look of fear in Dean’s eyes after apprehending Alastair haunted him and the uncertainty the detective seemed to feel around Castiel sometimes, hurt him more than he could have imagined. It was too that this perfect man could think so little of his character that he would feel frightened in his presence.

“I’m not, you know.” Castiel blurted suddenly, not even aware the words were his own.

“Not what?” Dean mumbled sleepily half a minute later.

“A bad man.” He whispered, sounding sadder than he’d intended.

Dean’s gripped tightened around his torso. “I know,” he breathed into Castiel’s skin. 

“I don’t want you to think—”

“I don’t, Cas. I know who you are. I know you.” 

“Okay.”

“G’night.” Dean said, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. 

“Goodnight, Dean.” 

It was a while before sleep actually overcame him, but Dean’s words, while not entirely reassuring, had managed to quell the mounting anxiety thrumming through his body. When he finally slipped into unconsciousness his dreams were filled with images of Dean and a life they could have had, in another universe. 

Castiel woke up hard and snuggly tucked against a firm, warm back. It only took a second to orient himself, then he was groaning softly as he breathed in the sleepy scent of the man in his arms. Gently rolling his hips, his cock strained against the curve of Dean’s ass and he leaned forward to press his lips to those endearing freckles shoulders. 

Being here felt so good, so warm and comfortable. Dean’s body was even smoother than usual, the roughness edged out with sleep and all he wanted to do was press their bodies together until they were indistinguishable. The thought made his dick throb more urgently, automatically reaching down to cup Dean’s naked ass firmly. 

His hands wouldn’t settle, waking the other man up with wandering fingers that roamed over the softness of his belly before trailing up his torso to play with his nipples. Castiel was obsessed with the way a few light pinches could have Dean panting, eyes shooting open as he squirmed and pressed their bodies closer together. His erection an insistent pressure against the detective’s back. 

“Cas?” Dean gasped. “What’re you—ah!” He groaned deeply as Castiel sunk his teeth into the back of his neck. 

“Dreamt about you,” Castiel breathed into his ear, rubbing himself against Dean’s body the friction so good he couldn’t help the moan that escaped him.

“Y-yeah?”

Castiel hummed, skimming a hand down to the soft patch of hair above Dean’s thick, hard cock. He laughed breathlessly, wondering if the man had been hard since he fingered himself open—body not even willing to disobey an order while he was asleep. “Want you,” he licked a stripe across the man’s neck, eliciting a shiver. “You were so good, waiting all night to come. You want that now? Want your reward, baby?” 

“Please,” Dean begged hips twitching, as Castiel raked his nails through the soft hair, knuckles brushing against his straining cock. 

Without wasting any more time, he trickled his fingers down Dean’s spine and dragged them teasingly across his hole. Beneath his hand Dean’s body trembled, hole clenching sporadically under the feather light pressure. Castiel grinned into his shoulder, pushing the tip of two fingers inside and savoring the other man’s moan. He hummed, “I wish we had your panties here.”

“Y-you do?”

“Yes.” He purred, pushing into that tight heat right to the knuckle. He thanked god that Dean was still wet and loose from the night before, all ready for him to slip inside. 

“Which,” Dean swallowed, rocking back on Castiel’s hand, “which ones?” 

He leaned in to whisper hotly into Dean’s ear, brushing against his prostate as he spoke, “I want to see the black ones, want to rub my cock against your ass while you wear them.”

“What—what would you, ah, do to me? If I had them o-o-on?” They’d barely started and Dean was already panting, so desperate for it. Castiel gently pumped in and out, trying to spread the lubricant around as much as possible and wet the rim.

“First,” he said, pulling his fingers out briefly to flip Dean onto his back, settling between his spread thighs before resuming finger-fucking him, “I’d rub our cocks together, through the fabric.” He pressed their erections together to demonstrate. “Then, I’d suck you off—”

“Through the panties?” Hooded green eyes blinked up at him, causing him to moan. Dean looked so beautiful, so perfect like this—spread out, cheeks a delicate pink, body open and inviting. 

“Yes, pretty,” he pushed a third finger inside Dean’s needy hole, thrusting so gently it made the man tremble beneath him. “Make you stain them white.”

None of this was strictly necessary, after all, he’d made Dean stretch himself last night to avoid doing any of the prep in the morning. But, there was something about the man that always made him want to go slow, to take him apart piece by piece until he was quivering and crying with need. 

“Would you fuck m-me?”

“I’d make you leave your pretty little panties on, slide my cock inside you,” he spat on his free hand, using it to slick himself. Then he was nudging the flushed head of his dick against Dean’s hole, refusing to actually push inside, at least not yet, savoring low whine that escaped the other man as he circled the tight entrance. Castiel rubbed the head of his cock firmly against the man’s perineum and then back down to catch on the ring of muscle, barely pushing past it. 

“Please,” Dean made a strangled sound and wrapped his legs around Castiel’s waist, using them to try to force Castiel inside. 

He laughed, stilling Dean’s movements with the touch of his hand. “You want this?” He asked, punctuating the question by dipping the head of his cock inside and then pulling back out, repeating the motion until Dean was a wreck beneath him. 

The man practically wailed, wiggling his hips closer and successfully managing to force in another inch before Castiel stilled him again. “Want it so bad, Cas.”

“Want what?”

“Your—your cock. Want your big,” he moaned as Castiel fed him another inch, “—ah, your big cock inside me.”

Castiel moaned and pushed the rest of the way inside, bottoming out quickly. He brushed a hand through Dean’s hair, breathing deeply, trying to control himself not wanting to come so soon. When he had calmed down enough he started moving slowly, pulling out completely then pushing all the way back inside, letting himself feel every movement, swallow every gasp in a kiss. Dean was a mess, practically sobbing, so he dragged his cock out far enough that only the tip was still inside.

"Please, Cas. Need it harder." Dean whimpered, fingers clawing at Castiel's thighs trying to push him back inside, to force him deeper. 

"Not yet, baby,” he panted. “Want to make this last. Want it to be so good for you, gorgeous." Castiel ran his fingers tenderly through the other man’s soft hair, stroked a thumb over his kiss swollen lips.

"'s good harder, Cas, please!" He begged, thrusting desperately forward, trying to take more and more of Castiel’s dick. But Castiel just continued the maddeningly slow rhythm, luxuriating in the feeling of dragging the thick flat head of his cock in and out of Dean’s hole, loving the way it caught on the tight rim and made Dean’s eyes roll back in his head. Every few thrusts he’d push all the way in slowly, forcing gaps and whines from the man’s body. 

It felt so good to be inside him and it was obvious that Dean felt the same way, given how debauched he looked, how strung out, his tight little hole clenching erratically around his cock, hungry and desperate for more. Castiel shifted his hips so the blunt head of his cock rubbed maddeningly against Dean's prostate, pushing him so close to the edge that he was babbling nonsense, eyes practically rolled back into his head. 

"Going to—uh," Castiel grunted shifting and sliding in even deeper than either of them would have thought possible, "ruin you, baby. Going to spoil you with my cock so nothing else will ever satisfy you again."

Dean bit his lip and suddenly Castiel was overcome with a possessive rage and he gripped Dean's jaw hard enough to leave a faint impression of fingertips. "What," he growled, "have I told you about keeping those sounds from me? They're mine, Dean. Don't you dare hide them from me." His fingers roughly pulled the man's jaw open, delighting in the lewd moan Dean made, eyes trained on Castiel's, wide and adoring. "Want to hear my baby sing for me." 

He grunted, striking Dean's prostate mercilessly. The sounds Dean made quickly escalated until he was practically shouting, thrusting up greedily and begging, chanting "Cas, yes, please Cas, take me, Cas, Cas, Cas!"

Only a few more hard, deep thrusts and Dean was coming violently and without permission between them. Castiel was so enthralled by the sweet sounds, the hot feeling of Dean’s muscles contracting, that he didn’t even really notice. An animalistic instinct had taken over and Castiel just kept slamming into him, fingers digging into his hips as he lifted the man’s body to get a better angle. Throughout, Dean continued to moan encouragement, cock still spurting come onto his stomach, mixing with the sweat accumulating between them. 

At the last second Castiel pulled out, grabbing Dean by the hair and coming in hot ropes across his face. Without prompt, Dean opened his mouth to catch as much of the salty liquid on his tongue as he could.

The sight of such unfettered submission made him moan, using his thumb to smear come across those freckled cheeks. Dean’s tongue darted out, asking permission, and Castiel complied, letting the man suck the come from his fingers. They sat like that for a minute just breathing heavily, eventually he pressed their foreheads together and smiled. A small laugh escaped his lips, the sound making Dean flush. He pulled his thumb free to kiss the sweet man beneath him, hand finding its way into his hair as he pushed their sweat slicked bodies together again. 

Castiel felt strange, elated, wrought with a giddy, happy energy that took over his very being. They rolled onto their sides but he couldn’t let go, kissing and praising and clinging to Dean, holding their bodies together. He was delirious, intoxicated on Dean’s scent, his smiles, his taste. 

They stayed like that for minutes or hours, Castiel had lost all track of time and obligation and duty—none of it mattered when Dean was firm and warm against him, a grounding weight that simultaneously made him feel light enough to float away.

“He was a phantom of delight,” he mumbled into Dean’s neck between tender kisses, not even aware of what he was saying until it was said.

“What?” 

Castiel pulled back a little, heart pounding in his chest because what was he doing? He chewed his lip, breaking out into a smile as he made his voice as grave and serious as ever, “When first he gleamed upon my sight,” 

“Cas,” Dean laughed and the sound made Castiel feel even lighter, even more lightheaded, “are you quoting poetry at me?”

He leaned in so that his lips were nearly pressed to Dean’s ear. “A lovely apparition sent, to be a moment’s ornament,” he breathed, gently nipping at the man’s lobe, “a dancing shaping, an image gay, to haunt, to startle, and way-lay.”

Dean laughed again and it felt like he needed that laughter like oxygen. “Wordsworth, seriously?”

“A being breathing thoughtful breath, a traveller between life and death;” Castiel kissed along his jaw, “the reason firm, the temperate will, endurance, foresight, strength, and skill—” Dean captured his lips in a kiss, swallowing his words for a moment. “A perfect man, nobly planned, to warn, to comfort, and command; and yet a spirit still, and bright—”

“With something of angelic light.” Dean smiled. “I didn’t know you were a sap, or that you like poetry,” he teased looking at Castiel adoringly. 

“Yes you did.”

“Oh?”

Castiel hummed, playing with their fingers—twining and touching and holding them together. “I sent you all those poems. Before we met, that is.”

Dean smiled, playing through the memories. “Those taunts, you mean.”

“They were hardly taunts.” Castiel frowned seriously. “They were declarations, pretty.”

“Oh really?”

Castiel bit his lip again, remembering how many time he’d praised Dean’s beauty through the words of others. How many times he’d mooned over the perfection of mind and body that was detective Dean Winchester, never imagining that one day they’d end up tangled together in bed. 

“So you’re tellin’ me,” Dean kissed him on the nose, “you’ve always been a sap?”

“A romantic.” He corrected mock-sternly. 

“Uh-huh,” Dean grinned and Castiel bent forward to cover that grin in kisses. They pulled away again, laying back and quietly staring at one another until Dean’s hand came up to tentatively rest on his cheek. Castiel leaned into it, closing his eyes as the man stoked his cheek affectionately. “This is nice.” Dean said. “I wish—I wish it could always be like this.”

Reality set in—the weight of his impending obligations settled down, seeping into his mind and poisoning their stolen moment of bliss. Castiel rolled onto his back, wanting not to see the other man’s hopeful face any longer. The truth was Dean deserved an infinity of happy, tender moments with someone who could provide and care for him. What he didn’t need was a man who kept secrets from him, who inspired fear within him. 

Castiel sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We should shower,” he said as emotionlessly as possible, refusing to meet the other man’s gaze. 

“Don’t do this,” Dean implored, tugging on his arm in an attempt to make him turn back around so they could talk. Ignoring the sad sound of the man’s voice, Castiel shook off his attempts and they sat in silence for a minute. Finally, Dean sighed in resignation. “Okay,” he muttered, “Okay, Cas, we’ll shower.”

They showered quickly; Dean tried to lighten the mood but every smile, every sweet word, only seemed to sour Castiel’s mood further. He knew that he was being unfair and punishing the man he cared about for no reason, but he couldn’t help himself. More than anything, he wished Dean wasn’t there, that he didn’t have the constant reminder of how corrupting his presence was. 

Dean was pure—a good, kind, thoughtful man who craved affection and tried to do right by people. Castiel, on the other hand, was rotten to the core and whatever light he may have had had been snuffed long ago, stained with the blood of Michael’s demands. 

“Cas,” Dean said, once they were dressed, touching his arm compassionately. Despite himself, Castiel placed his hand overtop of Dean’s. “Where are you, man?” He whispered, twining their fingers together.

“Right in front of you,” Castiel mumbled distractedly, pulling away from the comfort of Dean’s touches. 

“No you’re not. We were—everything was great and then, and now, you’re somewhere else. Did I do something? Did I make you unhappy somehow?”

“Dean, please stop.”

“You can talk to me, Cas. Whatever it is, you can always talk to me. I lov—”

“And why would I need to talk to you?” Castiel snapped, suddenly feeling an overwhelming surge of anger. He wanted to scream at Dean, to tell him to leave and go back to his perfect, good life and leave Castiel to rot alone in peace. 

Dean’s whole face crumbled, “Cas—”

Castiel glared challengingly at him before storming out of the room, Dean following dejectedly behind him. 

Down stairs was fairly quiet as the house was nearly empty throughout the day still, he could near the distinct sound of people pattering around in the kitchen. Muffled voices were nearly distinguishable and Castiel realized irritatingly that they were likely whispering about him. When he rounded the corner and entered the kitchen all sounds stopped. 

“Well, well, well.” Gabriel smirked, staring at Castiel while he stirred his coffee. “With the noises your pet was making, I wasn’t expecting him to be able to walk for at least an hour.” 

“Baah, ba-AH.” Balthazar imitated some strange amalgam of a sheep and a moan that even made Anna cover her mouth in a laugh. The sight would have aggravated him further, but Balthazar’s face was unusually warm, a taunting smile playing at the corner of his lips. This wasn’t malicious, it was friendly and teasing and the thought was somehow satisfying. 

“Good morning.” Castiel said calmly and then turned to Dean. “Why don’t you get us some coffee?” He offered a slight smile and the man beamed back at him, practically bouncing toward the pot of coffee and rushing back with two mugs. 

The sight made that same giddy-happy feeling unfurl inside him and when Dean finally sat, Castiel couldn’t help but twine their fingers together until the table. Despite his subtlety, Anna still saw and winked, nearly causing him to blush. From the corner of his eye, it looked like Dean might explode he was so happy. 

He coughed to cover his own smile, drawing everyone’s attention. Looks like it was time to dive in, he took a deep breath and addressed the group. “Before we proceed, I want to inquire as to whether or not you are all prepared to consider Dean a valuable member of our team.”

Gabriel sighed, rolling his eyes in exaggerated exasperation. “Yeah, yeah. You can relax, Cassie. While you were screwing the pooch upstairs, we all decided that your pup could have a myriad of uses,” Gabriel smirked.

“First off,” Dean began, clearly trying to shrug off his anger, “if I’m gonna help any of you chuckleheads, you’re gonna have to stop calling a dog.” After a moment, he turned to glared at Balthazar, “Or a lamb, dickbag.”

“I only meant it as the most sincere complement, darling, I assure you.” Balthazar waved his hand dismissively and Gabriel snorted.

“They promise,” Castiel look at them all sternly, “please, continue.”

“Second, I don’t care how uncomfortable this makes you, we gotta tell Sammy. And I wanna know what cop’s workin’ for you.”

“Kevin,” Anna said calmly before anyone else had a chance to eschew his request, “and of course you can tell your brother, right Castiel?”

He sighed, “If you think Sam can help than I don’t see there being a choice.” Gabriel and Balthazar frowned slightly but otherwise let it pass without comment. 

“Kevin?” Dean laughed, “Kevin Tran is your inside man? Guess that’s why you needed me, kid’s barely even an officer.”

“Yeah, well,” Gabriel waved dismissively, “It’s not like we knew you’d drop your panties the second you saw Cassie’s baby blues.”

Anna whacked him across the head, muttering, “Be good, Gabe. He’s trying to help you.”

“Dean?” Castiel squeezed his thigh in apology.

The detective sighed, “Alright, well, me ‘n Kev are gonna need to fake some reports for you guys. I can make sure we’re the one’s on duty when everything goes down and Sam’ll keep Bobby occupied long enough to convince the world he’s been snuffed.”

“And what about us?” Gabriel demanded.

“Kev and I’ll write the reports for you guys, too.”

“Yeah but how’re you going to fake our deaths well enough to fool reporters and doctors?”

“That’s why the third condition of getting my help is that you let me tell two more—”

“No way!” Gabriel shouted.

“Gabriel!” Castiel glared at him, “We don’t have a choice!”

“They’re trustworthy, they’d do anything for me ‘n Sammy.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, “This better be good.”

“Garth is a reporter, if he knows we have total control over the press. My brother’s wife, Jess, she’s a nurse and pretty damn clever. She’ll figure out a way to get you guys death certificates, make sure the autopsy report says what we need it to.”

“What’s your brother going to do with police chief Bobby?” Balthazar asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Keep him occupied? We can use Garth to make some mention about his sketchy disappearance.”

“We’ll need Robert occupied for a number of days—”

“Sam can take him out of town. He can say I was pretty upset about something and just took off on a bender.”

“He’ll believe that?”

Dean laughed, “You should see my brother’s puppy dog eyes. One look and he can get you to do anything. Bobby is a sucker for it and, ‘sides, I ain’t exactly been all that stable the last few months.”

Castiel smiled apologetically, taking the comment for what it was, an acknowledgement that he’d caused Dean a lot of turmoil ever since their meeting. Guilt overwhelmed him and he tried to pull his hand free but Dean only tighten his grip, dropping his voice and staring directly at Castiel, “That’s not what I meant.”

Before he could say anything, though, Gabriel was talking again. “So, we’re all just happy go lucky about letting a bunch of strangers in on our business?”

“If you don’t like my plan, then maybe you can offer some suggestions? How’re you gonna fake death certificates, huh?” Dean fumed. “I’m tired of listening to you dicks whine about secrecy. What’s the point in keeping it secret if you can’t actually do anything to enact your freakin’ plans!” 

“Dean,” Castiel said, voice uncharacteristically soothing, “we’re listening, please continue.” 

“I can make this work, but you’re gonna have to trust me.”

“It’s not you lamb, it’s your little friends.” Balthazar added.

“Well, trusting me means trusting my little friends. I can get us a death certificate, coverage in every major newspaper, and police reports. But I can’t do any of it without help.”

“For the record, I don’t like this plan.” Gabriel added.

“It’s the only plan we have.” Anna said.

“Fine. But if any of us die, it’s your fault Cassie.” Gabriel finally conceded.

“I trust Dean,” Anna added, “And I trust Castiel. Without Dean’s help we don’t have a plan, so I think it’s worth the risk.”

“Alright, so what do we do now?”

“Call everyone together, I guess. Make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Your friends aren’t coming here.” Gabriel said pointedly. 

Castiel smiled at the prospect of everything coming together so simply. “We’ll all go to Dean’s, then, it’s settled.” They all looked relieved, spirits higher than they had been in weeks. There was a solid plan, now and it was all thanks to Dean. 

It took two days to organize everything and get everyone together, the entire time Castiel spent in a frenzy of nerves. Not only was their entire future on the line, but, strangely, the idea of meeting those closest to Dean was in itself an unsettling situation. Over the course of those few days, he found himself racing through every possible scenario—good or bad—for meeting Sam. 

In the years prior to their meeting, Castiel had uncovered much information about Sam and his relationship to Dean—their mother had passed in a fire when they were children, their father was a police officer at the time but quickly lost his job in a downward spiral of revenge and alcoholism. By the time Dean was sixteen, John himself passed hunting down the arsonists rumored to have murdered Mary. From what he could tell, Dean had raised his younger brother as though he were a son and remained the single most important person in his life.

As such, Castiel reckoned, it was paramount that Sam form a decent impression of his character—despite the circumstances. It was, after all, apparently important to receive a siblings blessing and while he couldn’t care less about what Gabriel thought of his partner, Dean would likely care a great deal about Sam’s opinion. 

On the day they’d arranged to meet he spent half an hour trying to decide what to wear. Dean was on his way to round up his friends so, fortunately, he wasn’t there to witness Castiel’s embarrassing display. Unfortunately, Gabriel and Anna were most certainly home and resting comfortably on the bed.

“This is so cute, Cassie. I never thought I’d live long enough to see you acting nervous.” Gabriel laughed, and Castiel glared at him through the mirror as he unbuttoned the fifth dress shirt he’d tried on in the last ten minutes.

“Don’t be mean, he just wants to impress Dean’s family.” Anna tried to help, but just made him feel more humiliated, ashamed.

“I just want to look professional. We need these people on our side and they are not likely to aid criminals—”

“Professional stopped three shirts ago, Cassie.” Gabriel sighed, “He’s already taking your man-meat, what’s it matter if your shirt is white or off white or off off white?”

Castiel made a frustrated noise and tossed the shirt on the ground.

Anna shot Gabriel a withering look and got up, offering a slim white shirt and a blue tie. “Here” Castiel sagged, letting her button the shirt up and smooth out the creases. “You look handsome in this one, and the tie will bring out your eyes.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, fumbling with the tie before she batted his hands away and did it up for him.

“You know, Gabriel does have a point.” His eyebrows crinkled into a confused scowl as he tried to figure out how she could agree with Gabriel about anything. “Albeit phrased poorly,” she added, smiling compassionately, “You already have Dean’s affection, there’s no need to fuss like this.”

“I’m not fussing.” He said, turning to look at himself in the mirror. Anna had been right, of course, the tie almost made his eyes look soft. He wondered idly if this is how he’d look, had he grown up under different circumstances. Would his eyes have been softer, warmer even? Would the deep lines of his forehead still been there, or would they be laugh lines that framed his eyes?

“You look good, baby brother. Deano won’t be able to keep his hands off you.” Castiel shrugged into his blazer and finally wrapped his trench coat around his shoulders. “Can we go, now?”

The entire drive over to Dean’s apartment Castiel heart wouldn’t slow, pounding out an erratic rhythm for seemingly no reason. This was hardly the first time he’d been there, so why was his body wracked with nerves? Why did he care so much about this? Mustering all of his might, Castiel pushed his emotions down, clearing his mind of everything outside of the mission.

Everything was fine, that is, until they were climbing the stairs to the fifth floor. A tremor escaped his hand as he knocked, and he looked around desperately to ensure none of his party had seen. They only stood there for a moment before a gigantic man was slowly peeling open the door, looking over them all with weary anticipation. 

Hazel eyes blinked down at him, a little more on the brown side than green, but even despite the man’s long floppy hair and unusual height there was still a fair resemblance to Dean.

“I presume you are Sam?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam eyed him up and down, flicking his gaze briefly to the others. “Are you—you must be Castiel?” He flushed slightly as Castiel nodded and he wondered idly what exactly Dean had mentioned about their relationship. “These your, uh, friends?”

“Yes,” Castiel turned introducing him to Balthazar, Gabriel, and Anna, before turning back and craning his neck to look into the apartment. “May we come in?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and Castiel had to bite back a smile, realizing that he must have learned that gesture from his older brother. The door creaked open a little wider as the younger Winchester stepped aside to let them through.

Everything looked, surprisingly, the same as it always did. Dean apartment was still just that—his apartment. Castiel wasn’t entirely sure what he’d expected but it felt like too much had happened for the table to still be in the center of the kitchen, the couch demarcating the living from dining areas. It was the same simple, comfortable, home it had always been—long before Castiel had entered it and probably, he thought sadly, would remain after Dean closed this chapter of his life.

This wasn’t the time for such thoughts, especially not when two other strangers were blinking uneasily at him from the table. Dean gave him a lopsided smile and excused himself from the table to stand beside him. 

“Hey Cas,” he breathed, hovering so far into Castiel’s personal space that for a brief second he thought Dean might be leaning in for a kiss. What a disaster that would have been! Still, he couldn’t help his disappointment when the man simply laid a hand on his back to urge him toward the table. “You guys can sit wherever and then I’ll, uh, I’ll introduce everyone.” He smiled sheepishly at Castiel, who remained professionally distant only nodding curtly to acknowledge that the man had spoken.

Introductions were awkward to say the least. Sam regarded him with a strange mix of apprehension and reluctant interest while Jessica stared unrelentingly, smiling knowingly every time they occasioned to share a glance. The third person, a lanky, loud, obnoxious man named Garth was simply irritating and his constant outbursts slowed their progress considerably. 

By the time they’d divulged the extent of the plan, it was well past ten o’clock and Castiel was starting to feel agitated. Dean sat between his brother and Garth, completely across the table, and the familiarity they shared as grating. He hadn’t imagined spending so much time apart, not even close enough to feel the other man’s heat or touch his solid body. 

The only mercy was that Balthazar and Gabriel chose to behave themselves, remaining almost entirely silent after the initial explanations of the road so far, as Dean put it. 

Once everyone was caught up, though, the two of them simply absorbed the conversation more stoic than he’d ever seen them. Anna was cordial but also maintained a distance from the newcomers and Castiel realized that his siblings and friend were doing this purposefully. Don’t get attached to civilians, Chuck’s words suddenly looping through his mind. It was the first rule—never attach yourself to a free man, never drag them into the criminal life. 

He flinched internally, eyes skirting over Dean’s tense face as he enumerated the tasks he hoped his friends would take on. This wouldn’t be happening if he’d just left the man alone, if he’d obeyed his father’s training and kept a professional distant. Dean was never supposed to be more than a means to an end and yet, now—

“I just don’t see why we’re keeping this from Bobby! You seriously don’t think he could help?” Sam shouted, shaking him from a dangerous train of thought.

“We’re not telling your pseudo daddy!” Gabriel snarled, “You’re lucky we don’t just kill you all—”

Dean slammed his hands down on the table. “Watch it, dickbag.” 

“Oh, what’re you going to do Dean? You going to bite me for threatening—”

“You want to keep testing—”

“I don’t need you standing up for me, Dean!” Sam said, exasperated.

“Boys, please! Can we stay on task?” Jess pleaded, reaching across the table to grab Dean’s arm and giving them all a hard look in the process. “I’m sure they have reasons, Sam.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes briefly darting over to Castiel before settling on Sam again. “Look, Sammy, I don’t like this either but they got a point—fact is, we don’t know what Bobby would do.”

“We can trust him, Dean. You know that.” Sam said emphatically, eyes opening wide and pleading.

“Sammy—”

“Would Robert really be comfortable with helping criminals perpetrate crimes? Won’t that simply cause him to doubt both you and your brother. Sam, I would like nothing more than to have Robert’s help but I think it’s too great a risk.” Castiel said firmly with an edge of finality that silenced the entire group. 

Garth laughed, a large goofy grin breaking out across his face. “Robert,” he said, looking around the circle of people as though waiting for everyone else to get his joke. Apparently, Jessica did because her face split into a giant grin and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

Then everyone was laughing, Dean doubled over with the force of it. “Um, I don’t understand.” Castiel said awkwardly, feeling his skin prickle with heat. He looked over to Balthazar who was wiping a tear from his eye.

“Cassie’s always been pretty stiff. Not one for nicknames.” Balthazar slapped him on the back and he let out a huff that only seemed to encourage their laughter.

“Did I misspeak?”

“No, Cas, ‘course not.” Dean said sympathetically, though his lips were still curved in a smile.

“It’s just, no one calls Bobby Robert.” Sam added, rubbing the back of his neck. “That would be like calling Dean, Mr. Winchester. It’s just too formal—”

“I resent that.” Dean shot him a hateful look, though there wasn’t any real malice behind it. 

Castiel’s face flushed and he coughed to cover up his own awkwardness. “Fine, Bobby,” he must have said the name strangely because once again the table burst into laughter. Irritated and tired and having gone far too long without touching Dean, Castiel pointed cleared his throat. “If you’re all quite done—”

“Sorry, Cas.” Dean said, eyes genuine and caring making him flush again. 

It was midnight when the plan was finally settled. After everything was decided, there was a long and uncomfortable silence where the weight of the following days finally sunk in. A few minutes passed and then Dean smiled uncomfortably and spoke, “Well,” Dean clapped his hands together, smiling with anxious eyes, “what do you say, you guys ready to die tomorrow?”

With the discussion concluded, the plan was set in motion: tomorrow the police department would realize that their chief had gone missing, a brief examination of Rober—Bobby’s home would reveal a struggle and Dean would make a statement to the press through Garth claiming they presumed the man dead. At the same time, Anna and Gabriel would be rushed to hospital where Jess would use her influence to ensure they were pronounced death and sent to the morgue where Balthazar would help them escape later that evening. 

The following day, Castiel would go to Michael to discuss Bobby’s termination and while they were together the paper featuring the man’s disappearance and the murder of their siblings would be released. After that it was only a matter of time before the distrust spread through the ranks as both sides were already uneasy about having two power gangs operating out of the same city. 

Hopefully, Castiel would be in a position to encourage Michael to take action and, if everything went according to plan, Meg would warn Lucifer. They kill each other, leaving their criminal empires in disarray like chickens running around without their heads. Through the chaos it wouldn’t be difficult to have the police round up the high profilers still living, giving the rest a choice between imprisonment and living a relatively straight life.

The only flaw in the plan was Dean—Castiel didn’t want to lose him. There was a clear expiration date on their relationship and he was loath for it to end. Being with Dean was everything now, like he’d never truly felt anything before the man had swaggered into his life. Whenever they were together, his heart stuttered and his hands itched to touch, to take, to wrap themselves around his warm body and press against all the safety it offered.

But they weren’t going to get a happy ending. When all this was over, Castiel would leave and Dean would go back to his normal life—doing good, righteous acts. It wasn’t fair to drag him into the shadows, Dean deserved to shine in the light, to be admired and worshiped for his goodness. Castiel could never give him that and even this stolen time was selfish.

When they went to bed that night, he lay awake for hours stroking a hand through the man’s hair as he rested against his chest. It was so strange to go to sleep together without anything sexual transpiring between them, so strange to want that. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his nerves about the impending morning, tried to savor every second spent in the company of the beautiful man in his arms. 

The next day proved to be infinitely more frustrating than any other day in his entire life. Given that he wasn’t needed until the following day, Castiel was forced to stay sequestered away inside Dean’s apartment while everyone else played their part. Sure, he was able to coordinate their movements, check in to ensure everything was going according to plan, but as the day dragged on he found himself getting more and more antsy. 

It was well past noon and he wasn’t even dressed, just pacing aimlessly round and round the tiny kitchen. His mind kept threatening to return to worries about Dean, the mission, his siblings, meeting with Michael the following day. 

Eventually he started poking around Dean’s things, reading from the man’s collection of novels, regarding photographs of two small boys and a stern looking man, and leafing through a small box filled with terrible drawings from SW to DW. The artwork was almost painful to look at, it was like something a child draws for a parent and the thought nearly broke his heart as he remember that Dean raised Sam. 

Even the little tokens of Dean’s past weren’t enough to occupy the seemingly endless amount of time in the day so, frustrated and bored, Castiel started cleaning. He turned on the radio, something he’d never bothered to do before, and slowly made his way through each room scrubbing and dusty and sweeping. It was so ridiculously domestic that he almost laughed out loud. Here he was The Angel—fearsome, dangerous, with a name that inspired fear—cleaning his lover’s apartment while everyone he cherished was out risking their life.

He scrubbed every inch of the apartment until his hands were raw, body actually aching from the strain of it. It was late by the time he finished, sometime around nine—everything should be set, ready for the following day. Dean had called a few hours before to let him know that everything had gone smoothly on his end, and about an hour prior Balthazar had rung to inform him that Anna and Gabriel were considered well and truly dead. It was only a matter of time before his friend would sneak into the hospital and retrieve them and then, tomorrow, the news of their murder would be released. 

There was nothing left to do but wait so Castiel made his way over to the couch and collapsed, closing his eyes to the sound of the radio flickering out through tinny speakers. It was a nearly recognizable program, something fairly popular about a family maybe. As the story unfolded, he found himself slipping further and further into unconsciousness. By the time a few programs had cycled through he was nearly asleep, so out of it that he missed the creak of the door opening. 

After a moment, he became acutely aware of the sensation of being watched and heard a rustling of fabric. He listened to the quiet swishing noise for a minute before slowly peeling open his eyes. Immediately he focused in on Dean who stood above the couch, gently stroking himself as his gaze raked over Castiel’s naked body. 

When their eyes finally met, Dean turned such a deep shade of red, the man nearly fell over from the blood loss. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, dropping his cock and looking at the floor, clearly embarrassed.

“Do you make it a habit of pleasuring yourself while I’m sleeping?” Castiel asked wryly, voice practically dripping with excitement. 

“You just,” the man stumbled, still refusing to look anywhere but the floor, “you looked so good, I—I couldn’t help myself. I’m really sorry.”

Even as his voice quivered with regret his cock thickened, aching to be touched, breath coming in broken little pants, lips swelling beautifully as he tried so valiantly not to keep touching. It was the most breathtaking sight, causing his own body to react. 

“And now,” he breathed, catching Dean’s gaze, “you’ve worked yourself into quite a state, haven’t you?”

Dean whined, green eyes pleading, “Y-yes.”

“Take off your clothes,” he grunted watching with delight as the detective rushed to obey. Wrapping a fist loosing around his own throbbing erection, he jerked himself lightly until Dean was completely naked, standing in the middle of the room and waiting for further instruction. “Come here,” he obeyed, coming to stand an inch from Castiel. “What was my baby fantasizing about?”

“You,” Dean breathed, continuing only when Castiel arched an eyebrow in curiosity, “about you—uh, l-licking me.”

It took every ounce of self-control that he possessed not to moan loudly, instead staring severely at the increasingly distraught detective while he tried to regain composure. “Licking you where, baby?” He finally managed to grit out, so riled up it was making his blood hot.

If it were possible to die from embarrassment, Castiel would have been seriously concerned for Dean, as his entire body succumbed to a series of violent blushes. “M-my, um, my,” his eyes darted to the floor again as he muttered, “my hole,” so quietly it was barely audible.

Castiel breath hitched, battle for self-control completely lost, as he was unable to stop from touching his hard cock, hoping to relieve some of the pressure. Of all the things he’d expected Dean to say, never had he imagined the man was fantasizing about being rimmed. That Dean got off imagining Castiel giving him anal pleasure was too arousing to bear.

“Is that what you want baby, my tongue in your pretty little ass? Want me to lick that greedy hole of yours?” 

Above him, Dean whimpered, hips stuttering reflexively, seeking friction. “You don’t have to,” he whispered, looking ashamed at Castiel who simply chuckled.

“I know, gorgeous—you’ll take whatever I give you. But you’ve been so good for me, so perfect, I think you could use a reward. Is this what you want?” Dean nodded minutely and Castiel smiled, “Come here, baby.” He motioned for the man to climb on top of him.

Hesitantly, he complied, coming to sit on Castiel’s chest a scant few inches from his mouth. Castiel licked his lips, leaning forward slightly to run his tongue teasingly over Dean’s cockhead and paying special attention to the slit that was already leaking precome. 

Being already in a desperate state himself, he didn’t spend much time teasing and after a few seconds lavishing attention on the man’s cock, Castiel tapped his thighs to indicate that he should move further up. “Come on, baby, I can’t lick your hole like this.”

“Cas,” he gasped, “where—”

“Want you over my mouth,” he said, pulling Dean’s body until he was squatting over Castiel’s face, hands fisting the arm of the couch. “Better,” he groaned, trailing the tip of his tongue along Dean’s entrance. The man jerked forward, moaning lewdly from such a light tough. “Good boy,” he mumbled before flattening his tongue and licking a long line from rim to perineum.

The trembling of Dean’s thighs was probably partly due to the strain of holding himself above Castiel but, if the wild sounds and ragged breaths were anything to go by, it was mostly from pleasure. He ran his hands soothingly up and down the other man’s muscular thighs, feeling the way they spasmed under his palms, then pulling them sharply down so that Dean was effectively sitting on his face.

Dean let out a squeal of surprise that turned into a moan half way out of his mouth as the sudden movement had forced Castiel’s tongue further inside his body. He gave Dean a minute to adjust to the new position before using his hands to guide the man’s hips first in slow circles and then rocking back and forth on his face. The motion gave Dean a bit of control, letting his movements determine the length and depth of Castiel’s licks. 

The whole time, though, he maintained a firm grip on the man’s body, helping to set a pace that worked for both of them. Dean was quickly working himself into a frenzy of pleasure, from above him, he could hear lewd, desperate, barely human sounds. Eventually, he leaned back so that one hand was resting on Castiel’s stomach while the other clutched the back of the couch. The position must have been even more of a strain for the man’s body but it allowed him to touch more skin and, as Castiel started to suck on Dean’s rim, he felt the tips of fingers touching his neglected cock.

Castiel gasped in surprise, huffing a breath of hot air against Dean’s hole that was audibly appreciated. The feather light touches to the head of his cock drove him crazy, made him wild with need and he found himself pushing Dean from his face far sooner than he has intended. Taking the hint, the man scooted back so that he was once again sitting on Castiel’s chest.

Dean was a sight—body trembling and covered in sweat, lips puffy and parted, skin flushed such a breathtaking shade of red. His eyes were hooded, pupils completely black and body still rocking slightly, cock swollen and red with need.

“D-d-did,” Dean swallowed, visibly trying to regain his faculties of speech, “do something wrong?” he finally managed to get out.

“No baby,” Castiel breathed, voice lower and huskier than ever, “no, baby, you were perfect. You are perfect.” His hands came up to feel the hard planes of the man’s stunning body, finding their way from chest to pert little ass, fingers trailing down the crack to tease his loose, wet hole.

“Ah!” Dean bucked back, pushing against the finger and trying to force it inside.

“Do you want anything else?” Castiel murmured, circling his hole and messaging his perineum with his thumb. 

He gave Dean’s balls a firm tug before the man managed to gasp out, “Oil! In th-the kitchen, Cas, please!”

Castiel hummed, getting up quickly to retrieve the oil and liberally coat his fingers and cock. When he came back, he was dripping with slick and the sight clearly did something to Dean who moaned lewdly before burying his face in the cushions, ass in the air waiting to be taken. 

Slick fingers spread the detective open easily, knowing he couldn’t afford to take his time with this—they were both too much on edge, too much in need. The third finger slipped inside as easily as the first two, Dean’s hole welcoming the intrusion with an eagerness that pulled a groan from Castiel’s lips. 

He was buried right to the knuckle, twisting his fingers gently to force loud gasps from Dean, when the phone rang. Castiel smirked, “Answer it.”

“W-w-what?” Dean stumbled over his words as Castiel dragged across his prostate.

“Don’t be rude, baby, answer your phone.”

“Um,” Dean said, dumbfounded. Castiel pinched the rim of his hole, causing Dean to thrust back involuntarily. When he finally slowed the movement of his fingers, Dean swallowed and, trembling, reach over to the phone. “H-hello?”

There was a pause, Dean closed his eyes and bit his lips as Castiel continued to work him open. “Could, could you—uh—slow down? Who is this?”

Castiel peppered his back with kisses, using his free hand to rub Dean’s stomach teasingly close to his cock. “A-anna? Are you—” Castiel stopped, confused, had he just said Anna? “Yeah, he’s—Cas?”

“Yes?”

“It’s, uh, it’s for you.”

Castiel pulled his hand free, wiping them both clean on a discarded shirt on the floor before accepting the call. Dean moved, making room for them both to sit beside each other on the couch. The man’s expression was worried, and he felt his heart start racing at the implication of that look. “Hello Anna.”

“Cas? Oh thank god, something terrible happened.”

“Are you alright? What—”

“Balthazar, he, Uriel—we’re not sure if he’s going to make it.”

“Slow down, Anna. I need to know exactly what happened.”

“We were ambushed—Uriel he came to check our bodies, saw us alive. We, we had to take him out!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, fuck. “That’s, it’s okay Anna. Just tell me what happened to Balthazar, we’ll figure Uriel out tomorrow?”

“He was shot, he, we had to rush him out of the hospital but some doctors saw us outside and we had to run. They took him to emergency, the whole place is under pretty tight watch now.” She made a broken noise. “We don’t even know if he’s still alive, Cas, we can’t get in to see him.”

“I’ll be right—”

“No!” She shouted, even more distressed. “God, Cas, you’re a wanted man. You can’t go anywhere near the hospital!”

“Anna,” he said angry, “we need to get him out of there. If he’s alive, what do you think will happen—”

“I know, I know, but we can’t risk being seen and you can’t risk getting caught.”

“I’ll send Dean, we’ll figure something out. We need to regroup and get together.”

“If Dean goes tonight it could make people raise suspicions! Unless he gets a call from the department, I don’t think we should risk it.” 

Castiel made a frustrated sound. “Well then what the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Lay low for tonight,” she sniffed, “Inias is going in now, to see if he’s alive. Bu-but otherwise I think we should all just try to get some sleep. Figure things out tomorrow.”

“Anna—”

“Please don’t do anything reckless, Castiel. I can’t lose two brothers tonight.”

He exhaled heavily, trying desperately to reign in his emotions. “Fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Castiel,” She said hesitantly, voice still shaky from crying.

“Yes?”

“Please don’t blame yourself. This, this wasn’t your fault.”

He pressed his fingers against his eyes until he saw stars, gritting his teach together. “Goodnight Anna.”

“I love you, little brother.” She whispered as he hung up.

Castiel lifted his hand from the phone receiver, letting his head flop down into his hands to bury himself away, hiding his disgusting display of emotion. It wasn’t until he felt the soft press of lips against his forehead that he looked up. Green eyes wide with concern hovered an inch from his face. Dean was kneeling on the ground in front of him.

“Dean,” he tried to tell the man to leave him, to go, but the words died on his tongue. 

“Cas, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m a failure, Dean.” He whispered brokenly and the truth of the words stung even more now that they were out loud.

“No you’re not.”

“All I do is hurt the people I care about, all I do is ruin things.”

“That’s not true—”

“Yes it is. I’m not a good man, Dean. I’m not even strong—I can’t protect the people I care for. I don’t deserve this, your attentions, your affections.”

“Yes, Cas, you do.”

“No, I—”

“Would you just shut up for a second?” Dean grabbed his hands, pulling them to his lips and kissing each finger softly. “You deserve my attentions.” Castiel watched the other man kiss both his palms, “My affections,” he pressed a series of kisses down his forearms.

“Dean—” Castiel tried to pull away but Dean held him there.

“My respect,” he said, continuing his assault of kisses. “My admiration,” he punctuated the word by leaning up to kiss Castiel’s neck. Dean then pushed him back into the couch, climbing into his lap. “My devotion,” he pressed kisses up his neck and mouthed at his jawline, slowly grinding their hips together. 

Castiel’s fists tightened in the back of Dean’s shirt; overcome with emotions he didn’t understand.

“My love,” he said, fastening their lips together before Castiel had a chance to respond to the words, swallowing his shock in a desperate assault of tongues and teeth. Despite everything, they were both quickly getting hard again, kisses turning more and more passionate until they were both panting into each other’s mouths.

Dean gripped his cock and Castiel shut his eyes with the pleasure of it. Before his brain could even process what was happening, Dean was positioning himself above Castiel’s dick and slowly pushing the head inside him. As he sunk down on Castiel, he murmured, “You’re so—uh, strong,” he gasped as he bottomed out, “p-powerful” he moaned, rocking his hips slightly, “and good.”

A sob threatened to overcome Castiel, so he pressed his face against the solid warmth of Dean’s chest as the man rode his cock slowly. Dean’s hands came up to clutch Castiel head, keeping him firmly against his body. Castiel gasped, hands digging into the man’s hips as his body brought them both pleasure.

“Dean,” his voice cracked around the name, making it sound like a plea.

“You’re so good,” Dean panted into his hair as strong thighs gripped tightly around Castiel’s own, making him feel surrounded by Dean’s warmth. “You s-saved me, Cas.”

A strangled sound escaped his own lips and his hands came up to claw Dean’s back, holding them even closer. Above him Dean’s head was thrown back in pleasure, his flushed cock leaking where it rubbed against their stomachs. 

“Gotta let,” Dean dropped his head down to Castiel’s shoulder, “let me s-save—ah—you, now.” 

It was all too much—Dean’s words, the way his body shook as he sunk down on Castiel’s cock again and again, shifting so the head of it caught on his prostate every time he lift his body up. Underneath his fingers, where they pressed bruises into Dean’s back, Castiel could feel the powerful shift of his muscles and felt strangely safe, protected. He waited for the uncomfortable feeling of such a shift in position, but it never came. He felt good being taken care of by Dean, letting himself be vulnerable with him.

He moaned and looked up into Dean’s warm eyes, letting the man brush away an errant tear with his thumb. Castiel didn’t even feel embarrassed to be crying, not now, not like this. Dean cupped his face and crashed their mouths together, kissing like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

When they pulled away Dean shut his eyes and moaned, picking up the pace while Castiel gulped in air helplessly, barely able to comprehend the tight heat around his cock, the perfect friction as Dean clenched every time he pulled off.

“Dean, I—” He cut himself off with a desperate sort of sound, head sinking back into the couch. All he could do was watch, hanging on as Dean rode him hard and fast.

“It’s okay Cas, it’s okay. You can come, want you to come.”

His hands fell back to Dean’s hips, pulling the man impossibly closer and burying himself in his neck, breathing in the sweaty smell of him. 

Castiel came with a cry, Dean fucking him through his orgasm and murmuring, “I’ve got you, I’m here Cas,” as he came a second later. Pulling back he cupped Castiel’s face and kissed him feverishly, and Castiel finally let go, sobbing boneless and tired against him.

They stayed like that for a minute, Dean running a hand through his hair as he cried and shook underneath him. Dean pressed kisses to his tear-stained cheeks, his eyes, nose, forehead, and back down to his lips until Castiel managed to pull himself together enough to stop crying.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, eyes looking anywhere but Dean’s. 

“I’m not,” he said, brushing the tears away and capturing Castiel’s mouth in a slow tender kiss.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“You needed to, it’s okay.”

“Not in front of you, I—”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“Says who?”

“I—”

“Cas, I, I don’t think any less of you. You take care of me when I need it and I’ll take care of you when you do. Okay?”

“Okay.” He said, smiling against Dean’s cheek, “Okay.”

“Let’s go to bed, Cas.”

He nodded, letting Dean drag his limp body to the washroom where he cleaned them both up before heading to the bedroom. They kissed gently as he tucked them in, laying Castiel’s head against his chest. He shut his eyes and let the feeling of safety, of home, consume him—forcing away every other thought. There was no room for his worries about Balthazar or his siblings, or Michael, or even how embarrassed he should feel for needy this, needing help. Nothing existed outside of Dean’s strong arms, his warm breath, his affection. 

The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was Dean’s deep voice whispering against his hair, “I love you, Cas.” 

And, he’s pretty sure, he whispered it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so much for reading and for putting up with such a long wait between chapters! I'm really glad you guys like it, you have no idea.
> 
> So, I think there is about one long chapter left but I might break it into two smaller ones depending on how long it takes me to write them!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He would keep the sleep-warm smell of Dean’s skin, the steady rhythm of his thumping heart, the distant rumble of cars passing by outside, forever. He would hoard the memory of every single one of Dean’s freckles; carry with him the weight of the blanket that covered their naked bodies, kept them sheltered from the rest of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I just wanted to say that I'm so sorry this is taking so long BUT I am finishing the story, I promise. I'm a bit behind on my editing of what was supposed to be the last chapter, so I'm breaking it up into a few smaller chapters. 
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to post a longer chunk of it by the end of today but, just in case I can't, here is a little fluffy moment to tied you over!

The sun painted pales lines across the bed, filling the room with its weak warmth. Castiel woke slowly, burrowing further into the solid body that held him safe and steady. It felt remarkably good to be tangled up in another’s arms, to feel the reassuring rise-fall, rise-fall of a man’s chest beneath him. He let out a soft breath and smiled as Dean sleepily pulled their bodies closer together.

Thoughts of Balthazar, of the impending meeting with Michael, of Anna and Gabriel, flitted through his mind but he did his best to push them aside. There would be plenty of time for worry, Castiel reasoned as he felt the soft press of lips against his hair, but that was for later. Now was for this, a perfect moment—perhaps the most singularly perfect moment of his entire life—and he was going to remember every single detail. 

He would keep the sleep-warm smell of Dean’s skin, the steady rhythm of his thumping heart, the distant rumble of cars passing by outside, forever. He would hoard the memory of every single one of Dean’s freckles; carry with him the weight of the blanket that covered their naked bodies, kept them sheltered from the rest of the world. 

“Cas?” The rumble of Dean’s voice derailed his train of thought.

“No,” Castiel whispered into the crook of his lover’s neck. “I’m not ready.” 

Dean kissed his forehead and mumbled, “Not ready for what?” 

“To stop pretending.” He sighed and finally looked up, holding Dean’s gaze as he tried to convey a million unspeakable yearnings. “I would very much like to be this person a little while longer.”

It was a shameful request but after their confessions the night before, Castiel didn’t want to hold back. In all likelihood today he would die, finally pay for his sins—and if these were to be his final minutes with Dean, then he was going to take and give everything he could.

Fingers traced the line of his jaw, green eyes searching every inch of his face for something. “Cas,” Dean breathed, frowning with concern. “Who do you think you’re pretending to be?”

“The kind of man,” Castiel stopped, trying to calm the infuriating tremor in his voice. He took a deep breath. “The kind of man who deserves to lie in your bed, in your arms.” He closed his eyes and thought, the kind of man who deserves to love you.

“You deserve to be here, to have me. You deserve more than I could possibly—”

“Don’t.” The platitudes were too much, out of place and uncomfortable in an otherwise perfect moment. He wanted to retain the purity of it; to keep it candid, safe from the taint of self-awareness, still like a photograph he could hold on to forever. Even when—especially when—he was alone again, no one left to love him. 

Castiel fanned his fingers out, taking care to catalogue the sensation of Dean’s body beneath him—warm and soft, firm muscles shifting slightly as he breathed—before burying his face against the man’s sweet smelling skin. It was intoxicating. He wanted to live inside the moment.

“Okay.” Dean’s voice was a sturdy timber that filled the room with an overwhelming sense of safety, permitting Castiel to indulge in such tremendous intimacy. “We don’t have to talk,” he said, running his hand through dark brown hair. “I won’t say anything, if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything you want.”

The words sent sparks through Castiel’s veins like he a livewire. They seemed to ignite his entire body with an urgent, boundless kind of need that he never dared imagine possible. He wasn’t built for this; it was feeling stolen from another’s life. 

When he finally glanced up Dean was smiling sheepishly back at him, a soft blush staining freckled cheeks. There was something so hopeful and nervous in his boyish expression, leaving Castiel utterly breathless. 

“I want to make love to you,” Castiel blurted out, surprising them both. 

Dean’s eyes widened, a shadow of worry flitting across his face before it melted into something curiously fond. When, Castiel wondered, had they become so tender with one another? Perhaps in the face of impending doom they’d just let the walls crumble, found comfort in a shared vulnerability—

The warmth of Dean’s fingers gently urging their bodies closer pulled him from his thoughts and he found himself pressing their forehead together. They stayed like that, breathing in quiet tandem, sharing air in the impossibly small space left between them. 

“Anything.” The word ghosted over Castiel’s lips and he breathed it in, let it fill him. “Anything you want,” the other man continued, eyes slipping shut. “Anything for you. Always, anything for you.” 

Those words, the way they felt on his skin, the taste of them, the weight. He wanted to swallow them whole, devour them completely. Dean’s lips were pliant, inviting, opening up like this was everything, the world to him. Their tongues and teeth met frantically, hands groping and pulling. Castiel poured himself into it—all of his love, devotion, worship, and awe.

As the kiss deepened it slowed, the tension melting away as they moved into more familiar territory. This wasn’t, he decided, going to be something rushed or easily forgotten. If this was to be the last time, then he was going appreciate it.

With practiced ease Castiel rolled on top of Dean and nudged his willing thighs apart, making room for himself between them. Feet firmly planted on the bed, Dean spread his legs wide in a silent appeal for more touch. 

“I know, beautiful.” Castiel cooed, hands running reverently down all those miles of freckled skin. “I know,” he whispered again and leaned down to suck a possessive mark onto his lover’s neck, fingers pressing bruises into the man’s hips. 

Their bodies tangled together, the heat of skin on skin enough to make them feel feverish as they rocked into each other. Dean whimpered, rolling his hips in search of the friction they both needed. He raked his nails down the curve of Castiel’s spine, greedy hands grasping at his ass to better grind their cocks together. 

The pleasure was intense, a bone deep kind of gratification that went beyond mere sexual stimulation. There was something about being able to feel Dean’s body moving underneath him: the sensuous shift of his muscles as he tried to get off, the weight of his erection, the slight tremor of his thighs. 

Castiel gripped Dean’s jaw tightly, forcing it to the side to expose the delicate curve of his neck. He buried his face against it, panting harshly, teeth grazing the sensitive skin as they rutted against one another. 

It wasn’t enough, though—he wanted to worship the beautiful man beneath him, to press his devotion into every flushed inch of him. Castiel ran his open mouth down Dean’s chest, tongue and lips working to capture the vibrations his body as it strained and arched and writhed, desperate for pleasure. 

He nipped at Dean’s inner thigh, sucking against the juncture between thigh and groin. The detective’s cock was straining painfully, precome pearling at the slit and dribbling down onto his stomach. 

Castiel smirked, sucking at the base of Dean’s needy prick and eliciting the sweetest little moans and sighs. Unexpectedly, he felt the dull drag of fingers as they weaved through his hair, tugging lightly like a demand to suck harder.

“Somebody’s feeling bold.” Castiel murmured, digging his nails into a bruise and making the detective whimper with the pleasure-pain of it.

“L-love it when you mark me, love being y-yours.” He blushed, releasing the grip on Castiel’s hair. “Didn’t mean—m’sorry, Cas.” 

“Grab my hair, Dean.”

“W-what?”

They locked eyes, staring intently. “I want you to pull my hair, to touch me while I suck your dick.” Castiel said seriously.

“You, you’re—” 

“Yes.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to just hear your pleasure. I,” Castiel faltered, suddenly feeling like maybe he shouldn’t have offered to relinquish control like that. He considered rescinding the offer but realized that this was something that he wanted. “It’s not enough just to hear you. I want to feel you come apart in every way.”

“Are you sure?”

“I want your hips still,” he said sternly. Then, more softly, “but I’d like your hands on me, wherever you wish to touch.”

“Okay,” Dean sounded awestruck. 

“This doesn’t mean you’re allowed to control my actions. You’re body is still mine, and I will do what pleases me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Cas.” He breathed, nodding obediently. “Anything you want.”

“Good boy,” Castiel smiled and lowered his mouth to pepper kisses up the length of Dean’s hard cock, catching drops of bitter precome on his lips as he went. 

“Wait!” Dean called, breathless already. Castiel considered him curiously, startled by the urgent tone of his voice. His expression could only be described as demure: head bowed in submission, eyelashes fluttering slightly, cheeks a delicate pink. “I’m yours, you know, ” he murmured, cupping Castiel’s jaw. “I meant it—what I said last night.”

All of the words that he wanted to say, his regrets and longings, the fantasies he rarely allowed himself, burned in his throat. This was his last chance to tell Dean everything, to tell him how special he was, how beautiful, but he couldn’t. Instead, he lifted himself up to kiss the man that he loved, softly, slowly. They rocked together, fingers tracing the lines of each other’s bodies as they lost themselves in each other.

He kissed his way back down Dean’s neck, making sure to take his time teasing the man’s nipples, biting and sucking them just to hear the beautiful moans it produced. When he finally reached that aching cock, he wrapped his wet lips around the swollen head and suckled gently. His tongue played with the slit then traced the contour, swirling round and round, taking the detective apart. 

Castiel opened his mouth more fully so he could breathe hotly down Dean’s thick length, never quite letting his lips touch the harden flesh. It wasn’t until he felt the head hit the back of his throat that he finally closed his lips, pressing them tightly together and dragging back up to the tip. 

Dean moaned, head falling back in pleasure as his hands scrabbled to lace their fingers together. Castiel set a leisurely rhythm, indulging in the sensation of Dean’s dick slipping in and out of his throat. Precome and saliva dribbled down his chin as he sucked, and he groaned at the feeling. 

This was oddly nice; better than anything they’d ever done before. Over the course of their time together, pleasing the beautiful man beneath him had somehow become more arousing than being pleased. It was almost purer like this, more concentrated now that he wasn’t worrying about his own pleasure. He could focus on Dean, on his trembling thighs and the broken whimpers that spilled from his lips. 

The tight twine of their hands was grounding, a reminder of their mutual affection. He wanted to laugh every time Dean squeezed their fingers, amazed by the absurdity of the gesture. When he’d told him to touch, he’d imagined nails raking across his scalp or clawing at his back and shoulders. Not a thumb gently stroking his knuckles or the warm sweaty weight of their clasped hands pressing together. 

Oral sex had never been tender. He face fucked his partners and, occasionally, took them into his mouth but it was never like this. Again and again he buried his nose into soft hair, swallowing and humming around Dean just to hear his little gasps. 

He caught Dean’s gaze and licked a long, slow stripe from root to tip before taking him fully again. His tongue worked the vein along the shaft, going deeper and deeper and deeper. The detective babbled above him like he was possessed, entire body shaking with the effort not to buck up into the warm heat of Castiel’s throat. 

Dean’s hands tightened and squeezed Castiel’s fingers uncomfortably hard, but it didn’t even occur to him to chastise the man. The pressure was as enjoyable a pain as the ache in his lips from sliding up and down the man’s thick length. 

“Cas! Oh, g-god Cas!” 

The words sounded wrecked beyond belief as every inch of him shook with need and restraint. His balls tightened, dick throbbing incessantly against Castiel’s tongue. This was the best part about giving head: being able to feel his partner become almost imperceptibly harder in his mouth, the bitter taste of precome, the way the body constricts and trembles as it’s pulled closer and closer and closer. 

“I, Cas, I,” Dean stuttered as his thighs clamped down on Castiel’s head. “I l-love—fuck, Cas, gonna come!” He moaned, eyes rolling back in his head as Castiel took him faster, deeper. 

With a shudder, Dean came. Hot release filling Castiel’s mouth and spilling down his throat. He savoured the salty taste; suckling the man’s oversensitive cock, milking him for every last drop of come. It wasn’t until Dean was completely soft that he let the man slip from his lips.

The moment his mouth was free he leaned up to kiss Dean fervently, gasping when the other man sucked the taste of his own release from his tongue. Castiel moaned, his erection brushing against the detective’s thigh. Dean reached his hand between their bodies, wrapping eager fingers around Castiel’s cock.

Instantly, he broke the kiss and pushed his lover away. “Stop,” he breathed. He wanted to keep this pure, didn’t want this moment to be sullied by his own greedy pleasure, his need to dominate and control and conquer Dean.

“But you’re—”

“No, Dean.” 

“You’re still hard. I want to please you, want to make you feel good.” Dean leaned up to kiss him again, stopping just before as if seeking permission.

“Dean, I said no!” Castiel snapped, pushing away completely and sitting up straight. He was breathing hard, heart pounding in his chest. 

They sat in silence for a while; then Dean’s hands were on him, running up and down his arms, chin resting on his shoulder. “Talk to me, Cas.” He whispered pleadingly. 

“I don’t want to talk.” 

“Okay,” the man nodded solemnly, “okay. What do you want me to do?”

“I’m,” Castiel began but faltered. In all honestly, he had no idea what he was feeling, what he wanted. “I’m just tired,” he sighed, at a loss for what else to say. He turned to press his lips chastely to Dean’s. “Lie down, I want to hold you.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to deal with that?” The man nodded in the direction of Castiel’s slowly softening cock, smiling hopefully as he spoke. 

“I’m sure, Dean. Really.” 

“Okay.” He relented, laying back down on the bed and gently tugging at Castiel’s arm to join him.

They held each other for awhile, until Dean’s breathing evened out and Castiel was sure that he’d fallen back to sleep. It took all of his strength to pull away, to slide quietly out of bed and sneak his clothes back on. 

The thought of Dean waking up alone and confused hurt. It was unfair, he knew, but the alternative was too hard. There was Michael to meet and a plan to push forward; he didn’t have the luxury to risk waking the other man up to say goodbye. He was already fighting against every fiber of his being not to run back, to slip inside that welcoming bed and burrow against that wonderful man. If he tried to say goodbye, he’d be too tempted to just give everything up and stay there forever.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get these up as quickly as possible so I'm really sorry that they're all going to be super short!

Castiel took a deep breath, steeling himself—it was time to stop playing house, to purge his emotions and become a solider once more. This vacation from duty, this stolen moment of domestic bliss he’d lived with Dean was over. He needed to face his responsibilities; own up to the role he was deigned to play. 

The telephone was, thankfully, far away from the bedroom and he padded over to it quietly, murmuring where to direct his call at the operator. There was a soft buzzing sound as the he was connected, and then a tired voice was cutting through the static. 

“Well hey there, Clarence,” Meg drawled. “Thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“Hello Meg—of course I remember you.” 

“Oh, quit flirting with me.” 

“I didn’t—”

Meg sighed. “You know I love to hear that husky voice of yours, but you mind telling me why I’m awake right now?”

“I’m unaware of your sleeping patterns.” He huffed, eyes darting around the apartment. This call was taking too long and Dean’s sleep was tenuous at best. 

“Why are you calling me, Clarence?”

“I wanted to let you know that I might be late for dinner.” Castiel said calmly, hoping that Meg would pick up on their need for secrecy.

“For dinner?” She asked cautiously.

“With your father.”

“Oh, yes, dinner with my father.”

“Yes, I’m afraid something has come up. I’ll be visiting my brother,” he stressed, trying to make his meaning clear, “and you know how these family matters go.” 

“Especially when your brother is so—”

“Meg.”

She chuckled. “You need to relax, angel. Maybe after dinner we can move some furniture around—see if I can’t help ease all that tension.” 

“I don’t have time for these flirtations.”

“Alright, alright. How else may I be of service?” Meg asked sardonically.

“A favour, before you head to your father’s.”

“Shoot, baby.”

“My,” he paused, “cousin is in the hospital.”

“Your cousin?”

“The blonde one.”

“Ah, gone on.”

“He’s very sick. I was wondering if you could check in on him and perhaps bring him some flowers. He had some trouble last night and I’m afraid he’s feeling a bit—” Castiel swallowed, worry crashing down on him, “like death today.” He finally spat out. “I—I’m terrible worried.”

“I’ll bring him your flowers, but you’ll have to make it up to me later, angel.” Meg leered into the phone.

Castiel sighed, trying not to roll his eyes. “Thank you, Meg.”

“That all?”

“One more thing—your father’s friend,” he tried to think of an alias that she’d understand. He couldn’t say Alastair’s name over the phone, couldn’t risk the operator overhearing. “Al.”

“Oh yeah, dad’s good friend—uh, Al.”

“It was a shame to hear what happened to him.”

“Yeah, the accident.”

“How is your father handling it?”

“He’s pretty upset. It’s so strange; he seems to think your brother had something to do with it.”

“Losing a dear friend is always difficult. It’s easier to blame others than accept the randomness and chaos of life.”

Meg snorted. “Yeah, definitely. So that it, can I go back to sleep?

“Yes, thank you Meg.”

“Should I ring you after I’ve, uh, delivered your flowers? Let you know how your cousin’s doing?”

“Expect my call later this evening, after I’ve spoke with my brother.”

“Till then, Clarence. I can’t wait to see you after dinner.”

“Yes, that will be lovely. Goodbye, Meg.” He tried to sound sincere while fighting the urge to cringe. Just down the hall Dean slept peacefully, unaware that a short distance away he was pretending to be someone else’s lover. It felt like a betrayal.

It struck him then that he couldn’t remember how he’d ever felt content living in a world without Dean. Or, for that matter, how he’d ever be able to go back to that world. 

Meg giggled, breaking his line of thought. “See you, angel.”

The line went dead and Castiel found himself standing numbly for a moment. Life without Dean, the life he had before—nothing but casual relations with people like Meg. He couldn’t stop thinking about earlier, the way it had felt to take Dean in his mouth, how the taste of come still lingered on his tongue. It would never be like that again, never feel intimate. 

He chided himself. These weren’t the thoughts that Castiel The Solider would have, was supposed to have. 

Standing at the door, he hesitated and pinched the bridge of his nose. One last indulgence, he decided, heading back toward the bedroom. Dean looked so beautiful, features soft and vulnerable. Castiel quickly scribbled out a note, feeling like there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t feel inadequate. 

Dean would be fine—it was better like this. He ran a gentle hand through the man’s hair, watching a sweet unconscious smile pull across his lips.

“Goodbye, love.” Castiel whispered, and that was it. That was their goodbye.

The moment Castiel slid behind the wheel of his car, wave after wave of suppressed emotion overwhelmed him. Balthazar may have been lying dead in a hospital bed and he wouldn’t know until he spoke to Meg again later, Michael might kill him today, and Dean—he’d lost Dean. He heaved in a breath, angrily wiping tears from his eyes as he put the car in gear. This was no way to behave, he was not this man, and he was not going to lose control like this. Solider, solider, he repeated to himself over and over. 

By the time he finally rolled up to Michael’s he felt serene, or perhaps just numb, his emotions firmly tamped down. The house appeared dark, silent, almost like it had been abandoned altogether. There was something about the blackened windows that did sit well with him, launching a small tremor through him. In all the years he’d been coming here, it had never been so quiet.

He stood for a few minutes just listening, craning to hear even the slightest noise from inside. When he finally knocked, the sound seemed to rattle around inside like it was echoing along the empty halls. 

Nothing happened for long enough that he considered the possibility that the house might have truly been deserted. He raised a hand to knock again when the door started to crack open.

“Castiel?” A deep, hoarse voice called uneasily through the tiny gap. 

Castiel squinted. It was too dark inside to make out the speaker but he was almost positive that timber belonged to Michael’s voice. He couldn’t remember the last time the man had answered a door himself.

“Michael? Why are you—”

“Shh!” Michael hissed, eyes wild as they darted around. He pulled the door open enough to drag Castiel over the threshold.

Before he even had the chance to register what had happened, he was being slammed against a wall, a hand pressing sharply over his mouth. A dam of fear broke somewhere inside him, heart beating frantically as he tried to keep his breathing calm. Michael knew, he must have figured it out. 

It took an enormous amount of strength to keep from shutting his eyes and turning away from Michael’s manic gaze. All he wanted was to crawl deep inside his own head, to curl up with the image of Dean’s sleepy smile and die happy. 

There was a tense moment where Michael scanned the dark halls around them for some unseen evil. In that second Castiel’s mind was overloaded with a million regrets, fears, with a warring desire to beg for his life or die with dignity.

It was the slight tremble of Michael’s hands, where they were pressed into his skin that brought the world back into focus. The man looked rough—rumpled clothing, shirt untucked, hair disheveled. He reeked of sweat and scotch, eyes bloodshot. 

“Were you followed?” Michael demanded suddenly, voice scratchy with disuse. 

Castiel shook his head compliantly, knowing enough to keep his confusion to himself. 

The other man squinted, eyes searching Castiel’s face for deception. “Does anyone know you’re here? That you’re here with me?”

Again, he shook his head. Michael’s body visibly relaxed, head hanging low as he let his hands drop from where they’d been restraining Castiel. 

“I apologize.” The man sighed, running a shaking hand through his already messy hair. “I’m so relieved to see you alive, brother.” He turned, walking briskly through the dark hallway toward his office. 

“What’s happened?” Castiel asked, tailing after him. 

All the curtains were drawn shut, every ounce of light suffocated by the thick fabric. As they moved through the house, the ominous silence seemed to become louder, more present. The further they went, the clearer it became that they were completely and truly alone. There wasn’t another soul to be found anywhere, and the weight of their absence filled him with a peculiar sense of dread.

The weak light emanating from Michael’s office was almost blinding after the complete darkness of the rest of the house. It cast a sickly yellow glow across his desk, making the room look rotten, as disturbed as its owner. 

“Michael?” He prompted, unnerved by the persistent quiet. “Michael, what’s happened?”

He watched the man shake as he poured himself a drink, downing it and pouring another. “Drink?” Castiel nodded and Michael obliged before slumping unceremoniously into his office chair. “Anna and Gabriel,” he said, stone faced. “They’ve been—they’re dead.”

Castiel schooled his features, hyper aware of how he was expected to react. This was something he could manage; perhaps the other man’s behavior was not what he’d anticipated, but he’d spent months carefully preparing his own performance. 

“How?” He asked, voice so monotone and detached that he sounded more machine than man. The emotionless tone made him feel strangely cold inside, like for the first time he realized just how far away from Dean—how many miles from their warm bed and soft touches—he truly was.

“Lucifer.” Michael breathed, shaky and terrified, thrusting a copy of the local paper across his desk.

Castiel skimmed the story, shocked by the gruesome pictures of Gabriel and Anna. They looked brutalized, bodies riddled with bullet holes. The violence was excessive, masterful, the kind of savagery that could only belong to Lucifer.

Dean Garth had done such a terrifying, precise job. Even though he knew the whole thing was contrived, the story still made it feel real. According to Detective Winchester, the brutal killings were likely intended as a threat of some kind. As of now the police are still unclear as to the target of this terrible message. Castiel could have believed it—the cruelty of the murders made it clear that this was a statement. 

“I was afraid you’d been taken too—it’s been so long since we last spoke.” Michael said weakly, pounding back another glass of whiskey.

“Apologies. Robert Singer proved to be a much more difficult contract than I’d initially anticipated.” 

The man blinked blearily up at him. “Singer?” 

“Yes,” Castiel faltered—this wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. “The police chief, Robert Singer.”

Michael hummed distractedly, nodding into his drink. “Right, right. Of course.” He continued to nod, eyes unfocused. “He’s making a move. I can feel it.”

Castiel was shocked by how well their plan was working. He’d expected to die today, that he’d walked into this house only to find that Michael had known of his plan all along. Never had he imagined that Michael would fall apart so easily, so completely. The man was a disaster.

“What do you want me to do? Should we assemble the others to discuss strategy?”

He watched Michael slump further into his chair, pressing the heels of his palm to his eyes. The quiet of the room settled back down on them and he realized with a kind of abject horror the full implication of that unnerving silence. 

Castiel swallowed. “Where is everyone?”

“Hmm,” the man hummed again. Everything was silent for a few minutes before he finally muttered, “He means to kill me, Castiel. Kill me and anyone who’s been loyal to me.” 

“Michael,” Castiel said, unable to keep the urgency from his voice, “where is everyone?” 

“Lucifer won’t stop until I’m dead,” Michael’s face darkened. “He’s poisoned my most trusted, Castiel.”

His heart nearly stopped beating completely. So, he thought, Michael had figured him out after all. How much did he know—did he know about Dean? Castiel tried desperately to quell his fears, to focus on the task. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, trying to keep his voice calm, emotionless.

“I saw the way they were looking at me,” the other man snapped. “Anyone of them could have been my assassin!”

Bile rose up in throat and he struggled to stay neutral. “What happened to everyone, Michael?”

“They’re dead.” Michael said, eyes rising to meet his own.

“I see.” Castiel’s voice was cool, detached but his heart pounded so hard that he was almost sure Michael could hear it. The dark, evil quiet of the house seeped into him, filling him with guilt. No, no, no, his mind chanted over and over. This was his fault; their deaths were on him. He felt sick. 

“There was no way to weed out the liars. The staff had to be dealt with—especially my closest confidents.”

The panic was steadily rising in him. Michael had been implying it all along: everyone had to die. This was tantamount to how he’d envisioned this meeting; from the moment he’d set foot in this house he’d resigned himself to die. It felt even more appropriate now, considering the horrors that had been committed because of him, the lives that had been taken because of his little trick.

“I understand,” Castiel intoned numbly. “I suppose, then, that I am to be dealt with next.”

They stared between one another for what felt like hours, trapped in a pregnant pause, tension climbing and clawing its way into him until he could barely hold back a scream. 

Finally, Michael sighed. “You’ve never been very good at telling jokes, have you?” He said, chuckling sadly. “You’re the only one I can trust right now, the only person that I can depend on.”

The shock rocked through his body in waves and he found himself struggling not to take huge gulps of air. Instead, he downed his whiskey to steady his body. The urge to vomit was even stronger now, guilt and adrenalin and alcohol mixing dangerously.

“In that case,” he said, collapsing into the chair across from Michael, “may I enquire as to your intentions? How you wish to proceed?”

“I need to call a meeting with Lucifer, figure out what his plans are.”

“With all due respect, sir, I think you already have the answer to that question.”

“And what do you propose I do, Castiel?”

“You kill the devil, sir.”

“Kill my brother—our brother?” Michael raised his eyebrows, not so much in surprise but curiosity. 

“If he is plotting against you, planning to take over, then you need to strike first. You’ll control his assets entirely. It’s the cleanest way to deal with this situation.”

“And if he isn’t plotting, if it’s someone else in my employ?”

“Regardless, taking care of Lucifer will bring you more power and a greater empire. You can use this to reign in any possible defectors.”

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

“In all likelihood, Lucifer is either planning to murder you or undermine your leadership—making a grab for power. If you confront him, it’ll only give him more time to play his games, to gather his followers and attack.”

“But if it isn’t him—”

“With all due respect, sir. If it isn’t our brother, then it is someone intent on disguising their defection as his actions. They mean to confuse you, to sow the seeds of mistrust among your ranks and Lucifer’s. They wish to prey on your weakness—family—and use it to ensure your madness.”

“Castiel I,”

“Michael, please. You know I’m right. If you kill Lucifer now, you will seem strong, unshaken. If it is our brother trying to seize power, then you’ll have solved the problem. If it is someone within our ranks, you’ll have foiled their plan and bought us enough time to safely suss them out.” Castiel leaned back in his chair, feeling confident that he had Michael’s interest. “When you’re unsure whether it’s the serpent or the devil who tempts you to madness, is it not best to kill one and thereby eliminate its possibility entirely?”

“I suppose.”

“After you’ve taken control of Lucifer’s empire, you’ll be strong. Your followers will respect you—they will fear you, and no one will be foolish enough to move against you. But if you let Lucifer live, I’m afraid you’ll have backed yourself into a corner without any way to tell the direction of assault.”

Michael straightened, seeming to finally collect himself. He ran a hand through his dark hair to straighten it. He stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in his suit. “If we’re going to this, we must act quickly. Are there any men you trust absolutely?”

“Yes.”

“Good, rally them. Tell your men to come here tonight, after midnight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Castiel,” he paused to consider his brother, “be careful.”

“Of course.” Castiel smiled tightly.

He managed to make it to his car before throwing up. The guilt was unbearable. 

When, he wondered, had he stopped being able to disassociate from the collateral damage he caused? This was all for the greater good but it didn’t matter; he mourned the loss of the innocents Michael had killed. 

Castiel sat in his car, breathing heavily with his forehead on the steering wheel. He longed for Dean’s comfort, even though he knew he didn’t deserve it. In some ways, he thought, it would have been easier to die. It would have been better if Michael had simply ended his life, liberated him from this guilt.


End file.
